Killer Wants To Go To College
by Elizabeth Shawnessey
Summary: Trying to put her harrowing summer behind her, Amy Winchester arrives at Yale ready to begin her senior year of college and get on with her life. However, that's easier said than done when a string of suicides gain her attention. Set between the season one episodes of "Hell House" and "Something Wicked"; sixth in a series; long.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Yes, here I am abusing the "Amy" tag again for the wrong character, but it's just so convenient! Please forgive me. I promise I won't do it often! Also, as much as I hate to say this, the editing on this story suffered in huge amounts-so, again, I ask for your leniency on this particular story. However, just like my abuse of the tags, I hope a few misspelled words and wrong punctuation doesn't miff anyone too badly!

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Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

PROLOGUE

The DuPonte House  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, August 30, 2006  
11:18 PM

**T**he DuPonte House, sitting deserted on the corner of George Street and Sherman Avenue, was thriving with music that was sure to drive the neighbors nestled in their surrounding, elaborate Victorian homes crazy. However, the owners of the house, the sons of a high-powered lawyer who let his kids get away with whatever they wanted, were unconcerned with how much noise they were making, even after keeping in mind that they were throwing their annual beginning-of-the-year party smack-dab in the middle of the week.

Chase DuPonte and his brother, Charles, fluttered between crowds of college students, most from Yale while others had come from University of Connecticut and Southern Connecticut state—the latter of which being avoided by the prestigious school crowd due to the fact that "even a monkey could get into SCU"—making their rounds, shaking hands or exchanging kisses with the attendees. As Charles slipped in and out of throngs of girls talking with each other in corners, boys taking shots at the bar, and couples thrusting against one another in the three-thousand-square-foot home, Chase stopped beside a cluster of co-eds discussing their course load, scoffing at them for worrying about school when it had only started earlier that morning. Leaning toward one of the girls, and draping his arm around her shoulders, Chase began to talk in length about skating through his final year at the university, hoping to achieve a degree that would satisfy his father and allow him to work at law firm Richard DuPonte owned once he graduated. Of course, though, this was all for show. The girl in which he chose to wrap his arm around knew that well, due to the fact that she had dated him for the greater part of her freshman year at Yale.

Rachel Richardson always seemed to attract the scumbags, starting with her first boyfriend in junior high school and continuing on until today. She had gone from Rodney Wright in eighth grade to Adam Greene last year, both of which contesting for number-one asshole. They had cheated on her, stepped on her, and all-around used her as though she were nothing but a toy to be played with. With each break up—none of which being her fault since the boys seemed to head off the confrontation once they found out she knew she was being cheated on—she had vowed to pick better men, or at least wait for someone to come along on a white horse. But it appeared, clearly, that no matter how many times she swore to herself that she was going to try something different, she always seemed to go back to the familiar.

Unfortunately, out of all the guys she dated, there had only been one that had stuck around long after breaking it off. Chase DuPonte, who seemed about as entitled as his father and his lust for power, didn't seem to understand the word "no", always showing up at Rachel's dorm room or her apartment in Cicero, Indiana to try to whisk her away on some peculiar adventure. With every sudden appearance, she had always pushed him away, telling him that he needed to find a new hobby or something a bit more colorful, before slamming the door shut in his face. Ultimately, though, all that seemed to do was present a challenge to the over-confident million-heir, causing him to spring his presence on her more often and persist even more than the previous attempt. And it seemed, however, the more he continued to push, the less resistant she was to his pursuits.

Which was how she had wound up at his party. The past few days at school had been nothing but stressful, with move-in day and the time-honored "shopping week" taking up most of her schedule. She had spent Monday and Tuesday trying to situate the supplied furniture in McClellan Hall into something functional, only to get into an argument with _all three_ of her other roommates over whether or not the couch should be in the corner or the center of the room before placing it all back where it began, and earlier this morning hopping from class to class trying to find something that would fit into her schedule that also filled her graduation requirements. So far, she had only found one thing that seemed interesting in a long line of structured lessons, Acting for Screen, but, regrettably, the course didn't mesh with her psychology major in any way. Deciding it wasn't worth taking up her elective space, she had decided that Thursday would be a better day to find something both geared toward her goal and intriguing. However, that was _if_ she survived the DuPonte party first, and Chase seemed intent on making that difficult.

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she was automatically disappointed in herself for agreeing to his proposal that she accompany him to his and his brother's party. Though Charles was, by far, a much better person than Chase, and probably wouldn't pester her as much should she have chosen to go out with him—and probably wouldn't have cheated on her with Stacy Miller, either—Rachel had agreed to go for Chase's sake, making a promise that she would stick around until midnight in case he needed someone to help push the people out of his house. Though she knew his request was total bull, she also knew that Chase was the best mojito maker in New Haven, meaning that she could down as many of them as she wanted in between when she arrived at ten and when she slipped out at eleven. At the moment, she was working on her third drink, and even though she was aware of her ex-boyfriend's hand on her arm, she couldn't be bothered to care.

He had caught her after her last sample class of the day, juggling through course catalogues and her mobile calendar as she tried to figure out what would fit into her schedule and where as she climbed the steps to her fifth floor dorm. The elevator had been broken due to some hefty guy on the level below trying to carry all of his electronic equipment up with him, meaning that everyone had to clamor up the stairs with heavy books in their hands until it was fixed. It also meant that there was a possibility of running into Chase, who knew the resident advisor on the same floor as the elevator breaker. As she tried to hurry up the steps, attempting to look busy as she caught his football-player figure at the first threshold near the third-level landing, she noticed that he seemed to be waiting for her as he stood in the archway, talking to someone who was tacking a new dry erase board to the door. Racing after her, he had blocked off the path to her floor, placing his hands on the railing to stop her in her tracks and only letting her pass once she agreed to go to his party. When he was gone, she swore to herself to show up late and leave early, despite her promise to stay until the witching hour started, and to come flocked with friends.

Checking her watch as Chase continued on about his summer vacation in Bali, probably in some attempt to impress Taylor Rosen, another girl who stood in their group, Rachel caught herself glancing at her cheap Timex repeatedly, noticing that time seemed to stand still whenever she wasn't drinking. When Chase paused his elaborate story about the house his father had rented on a private island, the temple he had visited, and the hours he spent meditating with an Indonesian girl who was "way hotter than anyone in this room", Rachel began sipping the air at the bottom of her mojito through her straw, hoping the annoying gurgling sound would signal Chase into making another. Ignoring her, he continued on, going off on a tall tale about his father buying an office complex near the ocean to do business with foreign clients.

"He has a lot of international interest, especially in Indonesia and Indochina. He gets a few Australian clients, some I won't mention right now, but it's mainly in those two areas. I mean, I know he likes the United States, but why stop there, you know?" Chase said, sipping his drink as he paused, realizing that his was empty as well. "Money comes from all over, not just in the U-S-of-A. Sometimes foreign politicians and leaders will hire from America because we know how to fight dirty to get what we want, and they need that to win. Anyway, can I get any of you a drink? Maybe freshen you up?"

Shaking her glass and letting the ice clatter together, Rachel placed her drink in his hand and waited for him to leave, feeling almost embarrassed that she had allowed him to hold onto her while he went off on that spiel. However, after three, and soon four, rum-laced drinks, she couldn't feel much of anything aside from tipsy. Smiling at her friends as they talked amongst themselves about wanting to ditch Chase before he came back, probably trying to keep Rachel out of the conversation in case she wanted to stay, she listened to Taylor as she kept her eyes on the front door, tracing a path through the crowd to find a quick exit. After a long moment, the two other girls beside her, Celia Brown and Tracy Ritter, turned to leave, glancing at Rachel before taking off.

"You coming with?" Taylor asked. "We're going to go over to Matt Keiser's. Apparently he's having some kind of thing at his house that's better than this."

Unfortunately, before she could reply, Chase returned with both of their drinks, looking surprised at the three girls in front of him attempting to abandon his party. As he tried to smooth-talk them into staying, attempting to sweeten the deal with access to the make-out room upstairs, Rachel downed her drink in record time, letting the cold liquid hit her teeth and cause her to squirm under the sensation. Making a mental note, that she probably wouldn't remember, to see a dentist sometime soon to ensure she didn't have some sort of cavity, Rachel watched her friends leave without her, dooming her to having to accompany Chase around the room until she could find a way to slip out from under his grasp. Ultimately, though, that was going to be difficult, especially considering he was steering her farther and farther away from the front door.

Thankfully, after fifteen minutes, she found her exit, following Chase into the backyard and blending in with a crowd of girls she thought she recognized from one of her prior sociology classes. As she stood by, waiting for Chase to forget she was there while he divulged the story about his trip to Bali with a new group of co-eds, she listened to the conversation around her, becoming bored with it as she finished the last of her drink and threw the glass onto the grass.

"You have to consider the ramifications of free health care," one of the girls was saying, pushing up her spectacles as she spoke. "If it goes unchecked, the country would wind up billions of dollars _more _in debt. President Bush has already pushed the bill back as far as it can go, but the democrats are still trying to get it passed. If we make everything free, how will other things be paid for? The national deficit is already at—"

Loudly scoffing, Rachel pushed her way past the group in front of her, feeling the fourth mojito hit her like a rock. As she staggered toward the gate leading out onto a busy street, she wandered toward her car parked across the way, hoping no one was coming that would hit her or try to stop her from driving the two blocks back to campus. Opening the door to her white Infinity, she got behind the wheel, closing herself off and starting the engine. Everything in her line of vision was swirling a bit from the change of height, and as she continued to watch the world shift in front of her, she felt her stomach began to squirm. Ignoring the feeling, she pulled her car away from the curb and headed slowly back toward the student parking lot near McClellan Hall, keeping her fingers crossed that all the cops in town were busy patrolling the pubs in the area, probably hearing about the start-of-term crawl taking place near Chapel Street.

Thankfully, as she pulled into one of the few stalls outside of the school, she found that she was practically alone, the place appearing deserted while she stumbled toward the rolling plains of Old Campus. Under overhead lamps and the growing first-quarter moon, Rachel attempted to find her way through the labyrinth of cement, cobblestones, and brick buildings, gracious when she had finally stammered into the heavy entrance door of McClellan Hall. Wrenching it open, she let the light consume the stone floors and walls punctuated with polished wood doors adorned with dry-erase boards, each containing some kind of message for one of the four people inside.

The entire building was eerily silent as she headed toward the stairs near the back of the long corridor, her shuffling feet echoing with each step. Reaching for the thick banister of the stairs, Rachel paused a moment, wondering whether or not it had been wise for her five-foot-four frame to take in that much alcohol after a dry summer at home. Realizing that there might be a lesson in there somewhere, hidden underneath the liquor and lime juice, Rachel scoffed at herself before laughing, not caring that her voice was even more booming than her steps. Shaking her head, she started up, stopping after a few minutes when she recognized the fact that the task was becoming more difficult the more the room spun in front of her eyes. Feeling nauseated, she pressed her forehead against the concrete wall, sensing the coolness spreading throughout her body. When she felt better, she continued up, grabbing her keys out of her front pocket the closer she got to the fifth floor.

By the time she got to the landing of the topmost level of McClellan Hall, Rachel was certain she was going to vomit. The higher up she climbed, the less stationary things seemed. The ground tilted, the walls rotated, and the air became balmy, reminding her of that time she had been in Texas for the Fourth of July. As she raced to her suite at the end of the corridor, throwing open the door and almost breaking the key, Rachel headed straight for the bathroom between the two rooms inside. Falling to her knees, she barely got the lid up before she watched everything she ate that day become regurgitated, her body buckling under the force of the heaves. After a long moment, when she thought there was nothing left, she sat back against the cold wall of the bathroom, panting.

Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived. While she sat on the linoleum floor, listening to her own heavy breathing, the sound of something weighty being dropped in the next room over caused her to jolt upright. Knowing that all three of her roommates were at Matt Keiser's party and wouldn't be back until later, Rachel got to her feet, flushing the toilet as she cautiously left the bathroom. The dorm room in front of her, which was called a suite at the university, was the same as it had been before she left: the spacious, apartment-style common area askew with two futons in an awkward position in front of a television cabinet, its two end tables and lamps far from the arms of the couches. The door was shut, though not locked, but judging by the thickness of the sound she heard, it hadn't been anyone slamming it behind them after entering the room.

Crossing over to the closed archway, Rachel locked the door, then turned to look around. For some reason, even after having just puked her guts out only minutes ago, she was on high alert, though the thud of something being dropped wasn't enough to cause such alarm. It was as if a presence had entered the room, infecting the air. The longer she stood with her back to the jamb, the more Rachel could feel the heaviness of the atmosphere, like a dark cloud was hovering overhead. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself off the wall and headed for the bedroom she shared with Denise Greene, hoping that whatever had fallen had been nothing more than the girl's secret bowling ball or something.

Walking slowly, Rachel reached her hands forward blindly, unable to see much through the weak glow of the moon spilling in through the numerous windows. Pawing the light switch as soon as she was inside her bedroom, she flicked it up and down, only to realize that it wasn't working. Becoming more unnerved, Rachel shut the door behind her, hoping whatever was causing the sensation out in the common area would stay contained there until she had reinforcements or until morning came.

However, as soon as she was closed off from the rest of the suite, something worse than the dense air outside blanketed the room. The odor of rotten eggs suddenly grew throughout the space, starting like a spray of aerosol and becoming stronger with each breath Rachel took. Gagging, and feeling her stomach churn like it had prior to vomiting, she reached up to clip her nose shut with her fingers, breathing through her mouth as she headed for the window. Pushing open the wide panes, she relished in the warm breeze and took in the smell of summer as the foul stench carried outside. Looking down at the courtyard underneath the building, she could see nothing but the muted hunter green of the grass and dark brown of the walkway below. As she placed her hands on the sill to peer further down, she felt a grainy powder touch her palm. Gazing at it, she narrowed her eyes to get a better look, noticing that whatever it was seemed to be yellow and the source of the stink. Gagging again, she brushed her hands together, letting the wind take the granules with it as it floated past.

Suddenly, before she could completely relax again, Rachel heard the loud thud come from somewhere inside the suite. Turning around to look, she swallowed hard and prepared to glance through the dark. Unfortunately, before she could pivot all the way, a pair of hands grasped her, spinning her back into her previous position. Placing her palms back where they were in the sill, and getting more yellow powder on them, Rachel attempted to fight back, pushing against the window to try to get away from it. Ultimately, the hands were stronger, shoving as hard as possible to try to send her over the edge.

"No!" Rachel screamed, her stomach falling against the ledge and knocking the breath out of her. "Stop!"

All she heard in response was a laugh. Feeling her feet being picked up by the strong hands, Rachel tried to grasp onto the windowsill, unable to reach anything but the brick siding of the building. Before she could plead for whoever was about to tip her over not to, her sneakers left the ground, her body plummeting straight for the cobblestone walkway below.


	2. Chapter 1

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ONE

Abnormal Psychology 3, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, August 31, 2006  
11:12 AM

**A** crowd had gathered around the spot Rachel Richardson had fallen, blanketing the bloodstain in the cobblestone walkway and covering it with candles, flowers, and pictures to pay homage to the girl who had apparently jumped to her death. It had only been twelve hours since the event, the news of Rachel's suicide shocking the campus as it spread school-wide in a matter of minutes, with detectives only working a short while to determine whether or not they had a true suicide on their hands or something of formulated murder, though the latter seemed unlikely. Overnight, the place had been taped off, photographed, and searched for evidence, with none of the police coming up with anything out of the ordinary before they allowed students to set up their vigil.

However, the remembrance was only a small part of how stunned the students of Yale University were. As the story of the girl who had found her, Riley Hill, spread throughout classrooms and dorms, the tale had made its own twists and turns, but remaining mostly true to its original form: Riley had been walking back to her suite after having dinner with her boyfriend, thinking about everything else _except_ for where she was going in the dark. While she walked, her head had been in the clouds before it was ripped back down to reality the moment she stepped into a puddle of thick liquid. Looking at the ground, she saw the broken, bloody body of Rachel Richardson, a girl she had barely known but had once shared a class with. From there, she had called the cops, who had taken her down to the station for questioning. By the time she returned the next morning, her roommates had been able to piece together the story from the murmurs Riley let slip, spreading the tale around campus for those who were interested.

As the account wound its way through ears and mouths, classes and registration were still due to proceed. "Shopping week" continued, ID cards were still being handed out, and sororities were still being rushed. Although what had happened to Rachel had been tragic, life still moved on, with the girl's fellow students passing the place she had hit the pavement and stopping by to show their respects between classes. Ultimately, though, the shock would undoubtedly die off, soon to be replaced with curiosity and questions. Why did she jump? Why was no one there to stop her? How come she didn't leave behind a note?

In a classroom across campus, all of those questions ran through Amy Winchester's mind as she sat in the back of the abnormal psychology class she was auditing. While the professor continued on about the id, the ego, and the superego and how that reflected in what they would be doing during the semester should any of the thirty students that packed the small auditorium choose to take his class, Amy felt herself checking out as she barely listened, keeping her pen poised over the notebook in front of her to make it look as though she was busy working rather than thinking. Around her, she could tell the same was true of the other students, especially the ones with red eyes and puffy cheeks. No one in Professor Gray's class was paying attention, causing her to wonder whether the man was aware of it or choosing to press on in order to try to keep some sort of stability around campus.

Amy hadn't known Rachel Richardson all that well, only coming into contact with her once or twice over the years due to the fact that she was a friend of a friend. They had never hung out, never really talked, nor never really said much to one another aside from the occasional hello. Unfortunately, with a death on campus, she couldn't help but both feel sorry for the girl who had jumped and a little afraid. Ever since her summer with her biological father, John Winchester, Amy had been on edge, becoming the epitome of paranoid the more time she spent away from the man.

At the end of the spring semester the year before, Amy had flown home from Yale, ready to soak up the sun and finish a long list of books she had been compiling during the school year. She had arrived fresh from New Haven relaxed and proud of the final grade she had received on her drama exam, and also in a hurry to get to the charity gala her adopted parents, Joel and Jennifer Forester, were hosting at the North Shore Hotel. Making a rush to get there to help set up, Amy hadn't done much aside from offer moral support as she sat on the stage, listening to Jennifer scold the hired help and watch as the men doing the heavy lifting tried to appease the woman by setting everything down exactly to her requirements. While she sat idly by, kicking her feet against the floor, Amy had mentally been making plans over what to do during her vacation, staring first and foremost with getting a haircut.

Unfortunately, before anything could be put into motion, and even before the gala could begin, her summer had been interrupted by John Winchester's presence. Though she didn't know the man standing in the hallway, demanding that Joel Forester let his adopted daughter leave to head off to some undisclosed location with a stranger, was her biological father, Amy had felt a familiarity with him. As soon as the basics were explained to her, that John was there to whisk her away for awhile and promised to return before the end of August, the feeling of acquaintance had suddenly clicked. However, that was about the only thing between John and Amy Winchester that had connected.

During the trip, which had started as silently as it remained, Amy had sat in the passenger's seat of the man's hulking, intimidating truck, which seemed to match the build of the man behind the wheel, letting him take control of whatever they were doing. Ultimately, though, after a brief stop in Chicago, she had quickly realized that whatever journey they were about to embark on wasn't likely to be of the normal variety. John had returned to the diner he had dropped her off in—a preview of things to come, though she hadn't known it at the time—about as beaten and bloody as Amy had heard Rachel's dead body had been. After a few minutes of standing still, giving her every opportunity to ask the man what they were doing and where they were going, they had started back on the road, heading toward Minneapolis, Minnesota with Amy's mouth snapped shut for fear of overstepping her bounds.

Once in Minneapolis, John had done what he was about to do many times over and disappeared for weeks at a time, leaving Amy alone in a dodgy motel room somewhere off the Interstate and far from civilization. With only a television, a stack of books she had brought from home, and the occasional visit to the restaurant sharing the lodge's lot for company, she had soon grown bored of being trapped in a room sealed off with some kind of white powder on the ground for protection. Giving up on staying under lock and key, despite the fact that she was initially hesitant to even move a curtain back to peak outside for fear of disrupting the line of granules in the sill, Amy had headed for the diner perched near the road, getting a job as a waitress for something to do until John Winchester returned. However, before she could become comfortable in the position, the man had shown up to drag her elsewhere, causing her to leave behind the job to hurry off to another city.

But as soon as they reached Louisville, Kentucky, everything had been different. Without asking, John had begun to fill her in on his mission—his case for the FBI, or so she thought. Telling her that he was trailing two armed-and-dangerous men that needed to be watched, he informed her that he needed her eyes and ears planted inside the restaurant near where the pair of men were staying in town, giving her a chance to pick up where she left off with her job in Minneapolis. Ultimately, though, the task had been more than she could handle, giving her a few panic attacks along the way as she tried to hold her own while the men talked to her, becoming almost certain that they would just _know _what she was up to with John and that he had asked her to watch them from a safe distance. Thankfully, she and John had left town before she could encounter the pair more than once, giving her time to calm down and sleep on it on the way to Green River, Arkansas. Unthankfully, it was there that the man decided to switch up Amy's routine, asking her to go undercover to find out what his targets were up to.

Assuming the role, she had pretended to be both an Australian university student traveling with her father, her most truthful disguise, and a police officer working on a murder case the two men seemed interested in learning about. Unfortunately, after a flash of a similar FBI badge that looked identical to the one she had found in John's bedroom, and after the older of the pair, who Amy had learned was named Dean, had begun to look as though he recognized her underneath the blonde wig, fake glasses, and color contacts she wore to disguise herself, Amy had gotten skittish. Freaking out, she had left Green River with John, barely giving him any information that could be deemed useful as to what the men had been doing in Arkansas.

Following him to Nebraska, where they had spent about two hours in town doing nothing, before heading to Maine for the rest of the summer, Amy had determined a possible catalyst in Dean's recollection of her. The crucifix she wore around her neck, a piece of jewelry she had gotten for her thirteenth birthday that had been the only thing she had had of her real parents for years, had been somewhat of a neon sign. The small cross, made of silver with inlaid diamonds, was generic enough but also unique to her. She doubted, in all the towns across the nation that Dean and his partner had undoubtedly been to, that he had seen someone with the same trinket. Taking it off directly after stumbling into _just_ the partner—neglecting to do so beforehand, thinking the pair weren't staying anywhere near Brewer, Maine—Amy had kept it in her pocket to have it close to her. The thing, which hadn't been removed in the almost-eight years since she had gotten it, had been as much a part of her as her lungs or her ribs, and not having it on her would be similar to removing a vital organ.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before her and the necklace were soon parted. After the last encounter with Dean and his partner in the parking lot of the diner in which she worked, Amy had learned the truth about the "armed and dangerous" men John had asked her to watch. As the events of the night unfolded, leading up to the reveal that the pair weren't just John Winchester's targets, but also his sons, Amy had been blinded with some kind of irrational rage, taking off the one thing she had placed next to her heart for years and slamming it on the table near the door of the motel room. In some weird way, she thought it was supposed to symbolize her lack of want in joining the family that seemed to be playing some sort of spy-versus-spy with one another, as though removing the piece of jewelry she had been told had been her mother's was a sign to John that she was leaving them to go about their business without her. Ultimately, though, as soon as she arrived home from splitting on her own from the man, she regretted the action, wanting the thing back as she sat in the center of some kind of Mexican standoff going on between her adoptive family.

From the moment she walked through the door, everything inside the Forester home had been silent, with doors to every room closed as though everyone had decided to go their separate ways for the summer. Her twin brothers, Thomas and Tristan, were split up and across the house from one another, with Jennifer in the movie lounge and Joel in his study, leaving Amy to wander between them as she tried to figure out what had happened while she was gone. However, she had never gotten an answer, even after she had flown from Chicago O'Hare to Tweed Regional Airport in New Haven and spent the first day after landing being helped by Joel as he carried her boxes and furniture up the stairs to her fifth-floor dorm. When she was settled, he had left almost immediately, checking the car for anything possibly left behind before taking off in a hurry. Fortunately for her, Amy hadn't spent much time dwelling on the oddness of the situation, instead focusing on her new roommate.

The girl had been a tall blonde named Sarah, thankfully much unlike her co-worker of the same name from the Perko's Café in Brewer. With brown, doe-eyes and a big smile, Amy had pegged the girl as friendly from the get-go, deciding to make each other more comfortable by spending Tuesday night indoors with _The Exorcism of Emily Rose _playing loudly on the surround sound of a recreational area nestled in a hidden corner of the building's first floor that was soundproofed to be used for loud noises after a certain hour. As they squirmed, laughed, and tried to distract themselves from the grotesqueness onscreen, the two had made fast friends, even deciding to test out a few classes together on the first day of "shopping week" the following morning. However, the two had gone separate ways for the second half of the first day of school, with Sarah heading to Matt Keiser's party and leaving Amy alone to read in the common room of their two-bedroom, two-person suite housed in the added-on Swing Dorms—a residence hall Amy had been glad to be placed in. While she had been used to sharing a place closer to campus with four people—two in each of the spacious, antique rooms sitting inside apartment-like accommodations—she was thankful to have been put in the extra housing sitting far from classes. Though that meant a further walk to everything, it also meant she only had to share the bathroom, television, and Internet signal with only one other person—which, in all honesty, was worth it.

The only downside she could find to having been placed so far from everyone else was the fact that her new friend from back home in Northbrook, Illinois had been hired as the resident advisor for Vanderbilt Hall on the opposite corner of the school. Bailey Yost, who had appeared on Amy's doorstep near the end of summer carrying a plate of cookies and a new-neighbor hello, had become a good acquaintance in the time that they had known each other. Also blonde, Bailey's five-foot-two stature had spent most of the first couple of days back at school scolding freshman for making too much noise or trying to sneak beer into their rooms. However, being the RA for the rowdiest bunch of students on campus also meant that she heard most of the gossip, up to and including what had happened with Rachel Richardson. As soon as she had heard it, Bailey had passed along the message about the girl, giving infinitely less details in the text Amy had received as she did during breakfast earlier in the morning. As she, Amy, and Sarah sat at a table near the middle of one of the school's many dining halls, Bailey continued on about how the girl was found and whether or not it was a suspected suicide. Since then, Amy had become just as bothered about the death as half the campus seemed to be, floating from class-to-class with her mind only partially in it.

Ultimately, though, the cause of her being so troubled by the suicide, aside from the obvious, was a mystery to her. She hadn't known the girl, so why was she so concerned over the way she had died? For some unexplained reason, something in her gut squirmed whenever she thought of it, reminding her of a sensation she had felt during the summer when she had been in the Perko's Café. Her stomach had twisted and slithered as though a snake had found its way into her intestines, passing a few moments later and never returning. The more she thought about Rachel Richardson, the more she was reminded of that feeling, her stomach flopping as she remembered hearing about Riley Hill stepping in the girl's blood and stumbling upon the dead body. While that could easily be explained as nausea just from the imagery alone, Amy couldn't help but sense that this was something more.

Kicking the thought away as the rest of the class began to pack up, Amy shut her notebook and shoved it into her bag, nodding to Sarah beside her as the two stood up. On her roommate's face was a look mirroring everyone else's as they headed out of the lecture hall, one that said this class hadn't been as interesting as it had been billed. Making a mental note to cross it off the list when she arrived at her next subject, Theatre History, Amy trailed behind Sarah, straightening up next to her once they were out in the throng of the corridor. For the first few days of the semester, everything seemed to be back in high school, with lessons being released at the same time to make sure that everyone got an equal chance to check out the ones they wanted to get into. As people pushed past each other to get into a room across the hall or fish swam upstream to get inside the wide, stone-walled buildings, Amy was reminded of St. Mary's in Northbrook and how crowded things would get in between classes.

Thankfully, before she could dwell on it, Amy found herself out in the courtyard beside Sarah, the two hitching up their book bags from where they had been dislodged in the mob. The air was crisp and clear for a summer day, with some people sweating as they attempted to make their way from Old Campus to their lessons clear across the school in time. Strolling slowly, Amy wrapped her hair around her finger in thought while Sarah directed them to the place they would be splitting, outside of the mathematics building.

"So, you going to that remembrance ceremony at the University Church later?" Sarah asked as they walked, tying her hair up in a ponytail absently. Furrowing her brow in confusion, especially since she hadn't heard anything about a ceremony, Amy glanced down at Sarah, her slightly-shorter gaze matching the bewilderment. "I mean, it's just that you look so bothered by it, I thought you might be going."

Frowning, Amy considered it for a minute as they slowed to a stop beside the opening of the corridor Sarah was soon to head down. "I don't think so. I didn't really know her. I had friends who did, but that's about it."

"Oh," Sarah shrugged. "Anyway, see you later."

Grinning in response, Amy watched as her roommate turned to head down the hallway, disappearing into one of the classrooms, before turning to make her way toward the drama department. It was true, she did have friends who had known Rachel, but Amy had yet to see either Taylor Rosen or Celia Brown since getting to New Haven. In fact, she hadn't even thought about calling them, too shocked over the news of someone throwing themselves out the window to remember. Making a mental note to see how they were once her ten minutes of Theatre History were over, Amy picked up her pace to cross the grassy green grounds, hoping that she wasn't going to be late and forced to stand in the back.


	3. Chapter 2

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWO

University Church, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, August 31, 2006  
8:37 PM

**T**he procession leading past the doors into the University Church on the Yale campus had wound its way around the courtyard outside, leading from where it had started across the school grounds and ending where the small cathedral sat at the edge of Old Campus. The ceremony had begun at eight, with a group of students gathering outside of the British Art Museum on Chapel and High streets, before carrying its way back onto the university grounds, walking slowly behind Pastor Lee Reynolds, as he liked to be called, while he lead the group holding a single candle that barely permeated the bleak night.

From where Amy followed near the back of the line, she had felt odd as she listened to others sniffle and whimper prayers. Though she had known Rachel Richardson had been popular around school—due mostly to the fact that she had once dated the son of the famous attorney, Richard DuPonte—she had also known she wasn't well-enough liked to have attracted a crowd as large as the one around her. When Amy had arrived outside of the museum across the street from the Starbucks she had frequented in the past, she had seen only a handful of people. Thinking that maybe it would be a small affair, one that involved others too wrapped up in their own grief to question what she was doing there, she had stayed near the glass windows of the building, trying to blend in with the background. However, the longer she stood there, the more people began to join before the whole block was covered, causing her to wonder if all the other students were there for the same reason she was: out of curiosity.

For some reason, the idea that Rachel had committed suicide wasn't sitting well with Amy. The girl, from what she had heard during her consoling conversation with her friends Taylor and Celia, had been acting normally all summer, and the only time they had seen her looking depressed was during the party they had all attended the night before. According to Taylor, Rachel had been downing mojitos as though they were soon to disappear, but also according to Taylor, that was due largely to the fact that the girl had agreed to join her ex-boyfriend at the shindig—the same boyfriend who had given her the title of popular at school. Ultimately, the more Taylor talked about how Rachel had been more than excited to finally be graduating, that she was finally going to be able to open her own business, and that she was planning to get her own apartment on Madison Avenue when she became successful, the more Amy was certain the girl hadn't thrown herself out the window due to some mishap with an ex-boyfriend and a couple of cocktails. Though she knew it was perfectly plausible that the girl could have drunkenly slipped and fallen out the window on her own—which could, possibly, still be ruled as suicide, though she didn't know enough about law enforcement and accident rulings to know for sure—Amy couldn't help but feel as though that explanation was a shallow one as well.

Unfortunately, while she knew whatever happened to Rachel Richardson wasn't her business, her mind would continue to float back to the subject, no matter how many times she tried to distract herself. For the rest of the day following her Theatre History class, Amy had felt as though her head were in the clouds, trying to figure what had happened just by reviewing what she had learned from word-of-mouth. When that came up a bust, she had let her morbid curiosity get the better of her and had walked past the vigil stationed where the girl had fallen, trying to remember back on her physics class from sophomore year and attempting to calculate trajectory. Giving up, she had hurried to her last class of the day, settling into the front row of Acting for Screen and barely paying attention as Professor Emerson gave a rough outline on what he expected for the audition to get onto the roster. Taking lazy notes, she had made a mental one to look up monologues on the Internet when she got back to her dorm, then followed everyone out onto the numerous steps outside.

However, with too many mental notes clogging her brain, a few of them had managed to slip through the cracks. Suddenly remembering, as she walked back to Swing Hall two blocks down from where the drama buildings were on the city-sized campus, to call her friends and ask how they were doing, Amy had listened and offered comforting words to her grieving ex-roommates as they tried to blame themselves for leaving the party too soon or for not being better people. When she had finally arrived at her room on the topmost floor of the building, she had found Sarah there, watching with curious eyes while Amy paced back and forth, listening and trying to determine what could have possibly sent Rachel Richardson over the edge—literally. When nothing came to fruition, she had hung up and made a plan with Sarah to go to the ceremony at eight. Unfortunately, before they could leave, a phone call had pulled Sarah away, leaving Amy to fend for herself in a crowd of strangers.

Thankfully, the more people began to gather, the better she felt about crashing the funeral of someone she didn't know, noticing that reporters from the _Yale Daily News _were standing amongst the crowd with recording devices and notepads in their hands as they jotted down quick snippets of what was going on. As the procession lead through the dark campus, and as Amy's thoughts lead her away from the throng, she began to feel steadily more at ease and not as though she stuck out like a sore thumb. Even more mercifully, as the line gathered to head inside the church for the actual ceremony, both Sarah, and surprisingly, Bailey, had appeared beside her, dressed in the respectful black and looking as though they were worried they were late.

"God, I thought we were going to have to do that awkward thing where you walk in way after everything's started and everyone glares at you," Sarah breathed, straightening the strap on her dress as she attempted to gather herself. It was clear she and Bailey had run across campus in an attempt to make good time. "I probably would have just turned around and went back home. What's happened so far?"

Shrugging, Amy smirked. "Nothing really. Just a line from the museum to here."

"I can't understand them all's point of that," Bailey grinned, her southern accent swallowed as she spoke under her breath.

Shrugging again, Amy turned her attention back to the doors of the church, noticing that they were almost to the front. As the three waited patiently for the crowd to progress inside, Amy gazed through the threshold to get a good look at the architecture. When she was younger, before the teenage years had set in and caused her to rebel against the idea, Joel and Jennifer Forester had often dragged Amy and the twins to church with them down at St. Catherine's in Glenview. As they sat through the sermons, barely picking up its teachings while they squirmed in their seats from having to sit still for so long, Amy would often distract herself by looking at the stain glass windows, lighted ceilings, and fixture of Jesus on the Cross behind the pulpit. While the place had the look and feel of a community church, it hadn't been as impressive as some as the other Catholic cathedrals Amy had seen in books, movies, and magazines. The University Church, which Amy had never stepped into before today, seemed to fit the description of a real house of worship, with its gothic design, high overhead, and polished pews all being shadowed under the dim glow of the electronic torches installed in the wood-paneled walls between confessionals.

Following the crowd inside, Amy felt a commanding presence as soon as she walked down the aisle, finding a seat near the back between Bailey and Sarah before looking around. In every row, students were crammed into each available space while some stood packed beneath the overhang of the balcony. Upstairs, professors and personal friends of Rachel sat distant from one another, both Taylor and Celia among them. Higher up, the ceiling design hovered above them, its ornate aqua and gold-leaf pattern stretching to the roof and continuing over to the alcove behind the podium housing an organ, a golden cross, and a flower wreath propped up on an easel, a studio picture of Rachel in the center and staring out at the mass inside the church. Every now and again, the flash of a camera would go off to encompass the head of the room, blinking and capturing the set-up for what was undoubtedly the article sure to be printed in the next edition of the school newspaper.

For some reason, the idea of Rachel's death catching this much attention was startling to her. While she understood the shock behind the sudden suicide, if that's what it truly was, could be jarring to the student body, Amy didn't think this much of a turn-out would be due to such an event. As she looked around, she noticed that a good chunk of the school was there, along with a fair few members of the staff.

Shifting her thoughts away as the priest began to head for the pulpit, Amy noticed that the man now donned a cope along with his cassock, looking more formal with the gold fabric draped over his shoulders rather than just the black shirt and tab collar. As he situated himself, the whole cathedral's attention turned to him, complete silence under the shuffling of feet and clothing meeting his stare as he looked out at them. From where she sat, Amy could tell that Pastor Reynolds demeanor was somber, his brow furrowed in thought as he stared down at the Bible open on the podium in front of him.

"Friends, family, students and staff," he began steadily, his eyes sweeping the crowd. "We are gathered here, not under happy circumstances, but under rather grim conditions. For the first time in a long time, death has occurred on our beloved campus, one at the hand of the departed's own self. It is in such times that a community is formed, and looking out at you all today, I can see that one has been built out of concern, curiosity, and commandment."

Pausing a moment, Pastor Reynolds turned to the picture of Rachel Richardson, beckoning to her smiling face with his gentle hands. In the quiet, the sound of sobs and coughing could be heard, as though members of the crowd were divided in awkwardness and bereavement at the priest's words.

"While this ceremony is not the true funeral of the deceased, I have been asked by the deceased's family to proceed as such, although shortened," Pastor Reynolds continued, his lined face wrinkling. "I would like to begin with asking you all to stand with me in prayer." Stopping once again, the man raised his hands to guide the crowd up as one, waiting for most of the students to bow their heads. Glancing over at Sarah, then at Bailey, Amy noticed that both of them were staring at the floor, though the latter girl was tapping her toes anxiously against the marble underfoot. Shrugging to herself, Amy looked down, folding her hands in front of her respectfully as Pastor Reynolds continued. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, may the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen. Please be seated."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Amy followed the crowd out into the courtyard, trailing behind Bailey as she hurried onto the grass to beat the throng trickling out the doorway. Beside her, Sarah walked slowly, looking just as bothered by the ceremony as Amy had been beforehand. The service hadn't been any different than the other funerals Amy had been to in the past, the most recent being her Aunt Pat's, although sped up and shortened. Half-way through the reading of Psalms, however, it was clear that the crowd was beginning to get antsy, fidgeting much like when Amy was a child in church.

Now that the cathedral was clearing, people were talking more lively than before, standing in groups cluttered around the door and blocking the way out. As she stepped between clusters of people, following behind Bailey in her rush for fresh air, Amy reached absently for her necklace, swearing at herself again when she realized that she was grasping nothing but the top button of her cardigan sweater. Deciding to twirl her hair around her finger instead, she watched as people headed in separate directions back toward their dorms, some hailing cabs to catch a ride elsewhere.

After a few minutes of waiting, Taylor and Celia finally caught up, their eyes red and puffy from crying, with Taylor laying her head on Amy's shoulder as they stood beside one another. Pulling her friend closer for support, Amy squeezed tightly before letting her arm fall, Taylor straightening up soon following.

"Who are your friends?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

Making introductions, Amy waited for the girls to shake hands or wave quickly at one another before letting the silence fall again. Never particularly good at keeping conversation, especially when people were too distraught to speak, Amy waited for someone to pipe up and make a suggestion, hoping it would lead them somewhere near her and Sarah's side of the campus. While she realized it was a hike from where they were standing, it was also close to Taylor's favorite restaurant a block away. If anything was going to make her friend feel better, it was possible Mexican food and margaritas would be it. Ultimately, though, Celia looked as though she would rather be alone, probably taking Taylor with her. Frowning, Amy peered over at her other former roommate as tears threatened to form in her eyes again.

"I think I'm gonna go," Celia said finally, turning to leave without another word.

"Yeah, me too," Taylor sighed, giving Amy a hug before rushing off.

Watching them go, Amy bit her lip in thought as they disappeared into Connecticut Hall a short distance away, wondering whether or not her friends were going to be alright. Before she could dwell on it, however, Bailey cleared her throat, diverting Amy's attention.

"So… dinner?"


	4. Chapter 3

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THREE

The DuPonte House  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 6, 2006  
9:18 PM

**A**my sat curled up on the loveseat in the center of the small living room of her dorm with books spread out around her and a highlighter clamped between her teeth. It had officially been a full week since Rachel Richardson had died, and also a full week since school had started, meaning that the attention brought to the fatal accident—as it had been ruled by the police department—was waning, only to be shed on classes and studying.

In the few days since picking her final schedule for the first semester of her senior year, Amy had spent most of her time at the student book store, browsing the aisles with either Bailey or Sarah as they each searched for whatever they would need for the upcoming term. Buying textbooks, scantrons, calculators and more, the girls had quickly placed a heavy amount on their credit cards, all of them hoping against hope that they wouldn't be scolded by their individual parents for the number in the low hundreds. Thankfully, they had a month to wait before the bill came, meaning it was possible all their charges would become buried under other fees and taxes that were easily explainable.

However, dollar amounts were in the back of Amy's mind as she sat reading the required chapters that would be covered on the test this upcoming Friday. So far, she had been deeply buried beneath sociology, theatre, and English homework that it was becoming impossible to see the surface. On the tables and cushions around her, books were splayed out to their respective sections as she floated from one to the other, trying to pick up what was written in the dull paragraphs. Every now and again, she would look up to stare out the window across from her, only remembering that she had shut the curtains to deter her distractions. Picking another spot to gaze at in the small, city-apartment-sized common room, Amy settled on the blank television, wondering if she needed a break.

Since being back in New Haven, the TV set in the living area had yet to be turned on. The plasma screen, courtesy of Sarah, had been sitting unplugged from the time it had been placed on the stand in front of the coffee table, with neither girl bothering to do the honors. It was possible that, since Sarah was out most of the time, she hadn't had the occasion to sit down and stare, always choosing to head to a party or another friend's dorm instead. Amy, on the other hand, had taken a different approach. After all the television watching, movie renting, and overall couch-potato-resembling she had done for most of the summer, she hadn't wanted to plop herself down in front of the "boob tube" any more than she wanted to go to some soirée with her new roommate. It seemed, for the time being, the thing was going to have to remain off until one of the two girls occupying the suite took the initiative.

Turning her attention back to the textbook in front of her, Amy tried to read the first lines of the introduction she had to nearly memorize for the abnormal psychology class she had been forced into taking, feeling her mind instead float over to picking a monologue for Professor Emerson's audition on the same Friday crammed with first-week exams. For some reason, Amy had thought her senior year of college was going to be much of the same as the one in high school, with skating by and biding time until graduation. Ultimately, though, it seemed as if Yale was the exact opposite, expecting a thick course load as a last-ditch effort to get every lesson anyone might have missed shoved into one schedule. As a drama major, Amy had somehow managed to be placed in two psychology classes, an American Classics English class, and a six-week session on theatre history. While she was sure there was a reason behind being placed there, it would also have been more helpful to have spread each one out through the years rather than carrying them all at once. Unfortunately, most of the lectures she had been signed up for were available only to seniors, meaning that she had no choice but to take them during one of her two last terms.

Sighing loudly, Amy placed her highlighter in the spine of the book and shut it, throwing it aside as she rested her head into the back of the couch. For the past few days before the prior Monday, things in the dorm had been exciting, with Taylor and Celia visiting from Connecticut Hall and Bailey from where she RA'd in Vanderbilt. As the four of them talked, ate pizza, and tried to beat each other at _Sorry!_, it had become increasingly obvious that everyone was putting the past behind them to look toward the future. In between her first round on the game board and being beaten by Bailey, Amy had decided she was through looking at everyone suspiciously like she had been at Rachel's remembrance service and beforehand, passing by the "crime scene" and mulling it over as though it was her job to solve the whodunit. It had been a habit she had unsuspectingly picked up from her time with John, having always been hyper-aware every time she entered a diner to work and looking out for the "bad guys". Now she was doing it like it was second nature, staring dubiously at everyone as though they were all suspects in an ongoing investigation. Wanting to be normal again, she had thrown the idea out the window, so to speak, and made a promise to herself to stop being so vigilant.

Thankfully, the pledge had stuck, becoming permanent the longer she hung out with her friends. As they talked over their vacations, with Taylor reiterating the boy she had met while in Belize and Amy pretending she hadn't left the house even though everyone knew otherwise, Bailey listened intently, making moves in the game that wiped everyone out. Giving up against her ruthless red pawns, the four had put the board away and gone out for coffee at the Starbucks across the street from where the funeral procession had congregated. There had been a moment where both Celia and Taylor had become sad passing the spot, causing Amy to wonder whether or not the weekend was going to be further canceled, only to be swallowed and buried the second Taylor saw someone she sat next to in class. Spending most of her time with him inside the coffee house, Taylor stayed a few tables away, talking with Cody and leaning too forward on the countertop. Smiling and laughing quietly, the remaining three watched with amusement, making comments and innocuous jokes until the guy got up to leave.

After awhile, Sarah had joined them, talking quickly about a party that was being held in the middle of the week by the DuPonte brothers, another Wednesday bash they were hosting in an attempt to top the last one. According to Taylor, as she rejoined the group, the previous event hadn't been all that great in the first place, muttering a remark that it was Chase DuPonte's fault Rachel had died. An awkward silence had fallen at that point, one that wasn't cleared up as quickly as the one outside. Breaking into separate groups, Celia and Taylor headed for their dorm, leaving Amy, Bailey, and Sarah sitting uncomfortable near the door. Fortunately, by the time the cluster of girls saw each other again the following day, things had gone back to normal, with the former two apologizing for their abrupt departure and seemingly putting the accident in the back of their minds as soon school was kicked into high-gear.

However, if classes were going to be as intense the rest of the year as they were during the first week, Amy doubted she would be seeing much of the small congregation. According to brief MySpace messages and text alerts, she wasn't the only one being put on a heavy schedule, meaning everyone else was probably stationed somewhere in their own dorm, sitting similar to how she was, but having to share the space with three other people. Amy, alone in her suite while Sarah went to the mid-week bash at the DuPonte House, seemed to have lucked-out in the roommate department, almost always finding the place all to herself most of the time.

Suddenly, before she could thank God or focus back on her homework, the door to the suite was thrown open, with Sarah hurrying in and slamming it behind her. Jumping to her feet out of surprise, Amy furrowed her brow at her friend, wondering what was going on. As Sarah looked around frantically for something, her eyes finally stopping on Amy, she let out a sigh of relief and crossed the common area, taking a hold of her roommate's pajamas and looking slightly disappointed.

"You're all ready for bed," Sarah slumped. "Damn it!"

Smirking despite herself, Amy ran her fingers through her hair to push the tousled chestnut locks out of her face, curious as to what could be bothering the other girl. Sitting on the coffee table, Sarah folded her legs and leaned forward, looking expectantly at Amy as though waiting for her to return to the couch. Doing so, she gazed at her friend, noticing that Sarah was dressed in something formal and befitting of the DuPonte party. From what she knew, the brothers didn't do anything without making it a class-act, trying to uphold some standard their father had placed on their gatherings to keep them from being rowdy. According to Richard DuPonte, people were apparently more hesitant to swing drunkenly from a chandelier if they were wearing slacks and a tie.

"I need you to go with me to the DuPonte's," Sarah said suddenly. Frowning, Amy stared at her, wondering what had given her the idea that her roommate, who sat reading more often than not, would want to head to a modified frat party. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Listen, you don't have to stay long. I just need you for like, an hour. Chase is on the move, and if I don't have some sort of a buffer there, he's going to track me down. With any luck, he might even go after you instead. Social interaction would be good for you, anyway."

Sticking her tongue out at her friend's jab, Amy rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly—"

"Dressed? Yeah, look: I'll get you some clothes. Just please, _please_ say you'll go with me. There's no way I'm both missing this or getting hit on by a DuPonte. Plus, I'm your roommate, so you have no choice," Sarah grinned, getting to her feet to round to her side of the suite as she continued talking. "Take a shower or something, but be quick about it. The later we wait, the less people will be there. The bigger the crowd, the better."

Raising her eyebrows, Amy laughed quietly as she entered her bedroom, immediately heading for the floor-length mirror staring up at her from the small space. Inside sat a twin bed and a miniature desk beside a knee-high bookshelf. With all of her stuff crowded on top of it, and some of it out in the living room, the place looked cluttered and made it impossible to get to the closet. Throwing her pajamas in a drawer for later, Amy waited for Sarah to bring in some kind of outfit, wondering if she would be able to fit in the other girl's clothes based on the few inches of height between them—and Sarah's knack for buying the shortest of the short skirts available.

After a long moment of going through the five cocktail dresses and two pairs of shoes her roommate presented her to choose from, Amy raced after Sarah down the hall, stopping at the elevator down to give her time to tie up her frazzled hair. When she looked half-way presentable, based on her reflection in the silver double doors, the two climbed in and hailed a taxi from the corner of Tower and York Square, figuring it would be faster than walking all the way across campus and down a few blocks. By the time they arrived, the house was thumping loudly, causing Amy to wonder how the brothers could get away with a pounding bass at nine o'clock on a Wednesday in an elderly neighborhood.

"They pay off the neighbors," Sarah commented, seeming to read her friend's mind.

Frowning right as Sarah started for the crowd at the front door, Amy followed behind, keeping close to Sarah as she navigated them through the thriving throng. Passing drinking games, dirty dancing, and heated discussions, Amy took in each, wondering if all college parties were like this or just the DuPonte gatherings.

In all honesty, Amy had never been much of a partier, always figuring she could get her fill of them while watching movies or TV shows based solely on what happened to the characters and their following day's hangover. As she walked through the clusters of people, taking in the shouts of "chug, chug, chug, chug!" and "OOOOH!" at least a few times, she could tell that the screen versions of what was going on around her weren't too far off. In fact, based on the way the two girls were dancing on each side of the DJ booth, she was beginning to understand what Las Vegas was like as well.

"You're back," a voice said to Amy's right, taking her attention away from the party.

"I told you I would be," Sarah said to a tall blonde boy with cold gray eyes, his stare seeming to be appraising Amy's body beneath the red dress the two of them had finally decided on. Apparently picking up on the once-over, Sarah grimaced. "Amy, this is Chase."

Frowning for the second time so far, Amy bit her lip. "So you're Chase."

"Been talking about me, I see," Chase grinned slyly. "All good things, I hope."

When no one spoke up to agree or disagree, Chase's smile widened. "Let me get—"

Unfortunately—or fortunately, since Amy didn't know him well enough to be able to judge whether or not the interruption was welcome—before he could finish his sentence, a girl with frantic, red-rimmed eyes raced up to the trio, searching each of their faces as though trying to figure out what to say. As her gaze finally locked on Chase, she gripped him tightly, her fingers digging into his dress shirt and nails nearly ripping the fabric.

"Chase, you have to shut this down," Stacy Miller panted. "There's been an accident!"


	5. Chapter 4

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FOUR

Connecticut Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 6, 2006  
9:18 PM

**C**elia Brown didn't know if she could hide it anymore, the sadness she felt and the longing for Rachel to come bounding through the door holding a stack of books, ready to talk over what they had learned in class and who the boys were that looked like hot prospects. Even though it had been a week since the discovery of her body in the courtyard, Celia still felt the wound as fresh as the moment she had heard the news, the gaping hole in her gut still raw around the edges.

As she sat on the couch between her and Taylor's beds in their spacious dorm room, the lights off and the moon shining through the locked window, Celia could feel her thoughts drifting back to the second she had been told Rachel Richardson was dead. Taylor had come into their suite, a complete mess with her hair matted and her mascara running, searching frantically for Celia despite the fact that she was standing directly in front of her. When word had been breached, Celia had buckled onto the floor, her knees hitting the hardwood with a loud bang but her body unable to feel the impact. It was as if everything inside her had gone numb and like her breath had been sucked out of her lungs.

However, for some reason, Celia was unable to grasp the concept of Rachel's death, instead becoming incredulous and insisting on proof. Racing toward the spot she had heard Rachel had fallen, she had stopped dead in her tracks the minute she saw blood stain in the cobblestone ground. The splatter was wide enough to reach the grass and walls nearby, confirming all she needed to know in regards to the truth about her friend's fate. It wasn't some mistake or confusion. Up above, on the fifth floor, the window to the room Celia knew belonged to the girl was wide open, the spatter of red on the ground directly below. There was no mix-up between her friend and someone else; Rachel had died. There was no questioning it.

The days that followed had been harrowing, starting with the ceremony and never ending. As the whole school turned up to pay their respects to the girl only half of them knew, which made Celia more mad than anything, the service had been shortened to the point of being scathing, as though Pastor Reynolds was trying to get it over and done with as quickly as possible to satisfy the assembly's shifting focus. In the front row, from her vantage point on the balcony, she could see reporters from the _Yale Daily News _sitting and jotting down notes, taking pictures every time the priest at the pulpit opened his mouth. It was an insult, to say the least, to see Rachel remembered in that way, as an accident worthy of the front page and nothing more, and when the issue of the paper came out the next morning, Celia hadn't bothered to read it, instead choosing to throw it directly in the trash without giving Taylor a chance to see it.

But it wasn't like Taylor felt any different on the matter. Both girls had been close with Rachel, growing up with her in Cicero with their houses placed right next to one another. Their mothers had all been friends, their fathers played golf together, and the three of them got along famously from childhood on. They had been through good times, fights, breakups, and even that incident with Rachel first dating Chase DuPonte. They had become sisters as well as best friends, and losing one of them was like losing a kidney.

However, though it had only been a week, life went on and she was expected to be over the eternal absence already. In class, she was expected to pay attention; with friends, she was expected to be pleasant; and with everyone else, she was supposed to be social. Unfortunately, Celia felt none of those things. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry every minute of every day, and, despite the fact that Taylor seemed to be occupying herself with trips to the library and so on, she could tell her best friend felt that way, too.

About an hour ago, the two of them had gone their separate ways after seeing Sarah Clarke race across campus down below, probably in search of Amy or someone equally as agreeable to drag to the DuPonte House with her. For some reason, Celia didn't like the girl, Sarah, finding her to be too much of a partier, choosing to dismiss school to head out night after night. How she and Amy had been placed together in a dorm was astounding. The pair were complete opposites, with the latter always choosing to stay in and read while the former probably woke up smelling like a brewery every morning. She knew for a fact that Yale did psychological profiles and questionnaires with all its residents, making sure that the people they housed together would get along without any sort of friction. Somehow, though, it seemed to work—despite the fact that Celia knew most of that could be attributed to knowing Amy would never say anything if Sarah rolled into the dorm at six o'clock in the morning reeking of alcohol.

Staring out at the moon glowing through the window, Celia couldn't help but wonder about Amy, noticing that something about her short-time friend seemed distracted lately. Beneath her constantly-curious gaze seemed something bothersome, as though a hardness had formed in the sage green during the summer. But it wasn't just her suspicions running wild whenever the idea popped up in her mind—especially since every time any of them talked about their vacations, Amy had always been the one who acted as though she hadn't done much of anything—that made Celia feel that way. While it was perfectly plausible that Amy _hadn't_ done much of anything, that she'd spent most of the four months beside a pool with a book due mostly because Celia knew Amy had done so before, the perturbed sense in her eyes told another story. Ultimately, however much of that was caused by Rachel's death was still unknown, considering most of the school had appeared the exact same way for most of the day the news had broken of the fall.

Sighing loudly, Celia changed positions in her chair, taking her gaze off the bright white in the sky to glare at the ceiling. Out of the four roommates sharing a suite on the top floor of Connecticut Hall, she had been the only one left inside, each of them either gone to the DuPonte House for the Wednesday night bash or down to the library with Taylor. While she knew there were other places to go aside from either of those two choices, her other suitemates didn't seem to be the adventurous type. Both seniors from other counties—one Scotland and the other Wales—Alice and Juniper didn't appear to stray too far from their tried-and-true spots on school grounds. Floating between the coffee cart outside in the courtyard, one of the multiple libraries, and sometimes even Durfee's Sweet Shoppe, neither of them looked the type to head to the party two blocks from campus, though she didn't want to rule it out as a possibility.

Celia had always hated the DuPonte House "gatherings", as Chase called them, finding them to be ridiculous and over-hyped. Though she knew Charles, the younger brother, wasn't as bad as the other one, she still couldn't stand the sight of either of them, especially now since both her and Taylor held them responsible for Rachel's death. If she hadn't been drinking the night of the first party, she would probably still be alive, dexterous enough to keep herself from slipping out the window. In fact, there was a lot of blame she could place on Chase. The guy had been all over Rachel during the night, draping his arm around her as though she was once again his girlfriend and even freshening up her drink—though that had taken some coercion since he wasn't kind enough to figure it out on his own. Then again, she couldn't lay fault on him entirely. Both Celia and Taylor had ditched their friend that night, leaving her behind in favor of Matt Keiser's party.

Sinking lower in her chair, Celia sniffed the tears forming in her eyes back into retreat. She had been crying for so many days, barely sleeping because of the ache of wanting her friend back, and was tired of feeling tired. All she wanted was to sleep off her exhaustion before bawling again, but it seemed as though that wasn't an option. It was either one or the other, and it appeared the tears were winning the battle, despite the fact that her body ached and her shoulders throbbed from the sobs.

Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes fixed on the overhead light, staring at the dark bulb that hadn't been illuminated in quite some time. Both her and Taylor had kept the room dark since the accident, not wanting to brighten the space as though it were some weird metaphor for shining a light on the situation. Neither of them wanted to face the truth that Rachel was gone, instead keeping everything dim and lit by the glow of the moon as if that would make what happened anything but reality. The moment the switch was flicked to the on position, Rachel would be dead, and they would have to go on without her. Sitting in the unilluminated night was better, it kept the truth away by dulling it with darkness.

Suddenly, the sound of something heavy being dropped in the common room echoed throughout the suite, jolting Celia out of her thoughts. Getting slowly to her feet, she crossed over to the door of the bedroom, poking her head out and expecting Taylor to be standing near the couch, a stack of books spilling over in her hands as she attempted to collect the ones that had fallen. Instead, she saw nothing but the two futons and end tables sitting empty, untouched from where they had been repositioned by Juniper earlier in the day. Sighing, Celia shut the door behind her as she headed back inside, chocking the noise she had heard up to her sleep-deprived imagination running wild, hoping that Rachel would be there when she looked.

Sitting back down in her chair, Celia wrapped her arms around her crossed legs in front of her, resting her head against her propped-up shoulder and glancing at the clock on the desk beside her computer. It was possible that she needed to go to bed, her exhaustion now getting the better of her and causing her to hallucinate thuds and sounds. Ultimately, at only a quarter past nine, it was too early to call it a night, despite everything. Taylor would be back from the library soon, meaning that the two could sit up and watch television together if worse came to worst, dulling their mind with the straight-forward _CSI_ if they couldn't find anything else to keep them occupied. Unfortunately, that meant she had fifteen minutes to kill before the library closed, and even more time for Taylor to walk back to Connecticut Hall after gathering her things.

However, before she could become settled on the idea, the sound of another pounding reverberating from the wooden floor of the common room drifted into Celia's shared bedroom, making her almost certain that the noise had been a heavy book being dropped on the ground. Sighing contentedly, she got to her feet and headed out into the living area, tying her robe around her middle as she walked. Again, as she wrenched open the door, nothing was there, except now the sensation of something dense with a foul odor was wafting through the air. Pinching her nose at the fumes and trying to identify the smell from the hundreds she had experienced in her chemistry lab, Celia looked around for a stink bomb or something of the like that may have been tossed into the room. Finding nothing, she gagged on the thick aroma, heading back into her bedroom and looking for something absorbent to place under the door to stifle the stench.

"God, that's awful," she muttered to herself as she kicked a towel into the crack.

"Isn't it?" a voice asked, causing Celia to whip around.

Narrowing her eyes to peer through the darkness, she attempted to find the source of the declaration, only seeing more shadows in the blackened room. For a moment, Celia considered flipping on the light to see, but was too afraid to move. All of a sudden, as though reading her mind, the bulb overhead brightened, causing her to look up as the illumination grew to a blinding white. Placing a hand over her brow to try to cut through the stark contrast of the previous dimness, Celia attempted to see who else was inside her dorm, wondering if someone were there, playing a prank on her. Though, how they would have gotten in was beyond her; the front and bedroom doors had both been shut the entire time.

"Who's there?" she asked after a long while, the white so bright she was forced to shut her eyes. As soon as the question escaped her mouth, she was reminded of a horror movie, the line always being said the moment before the killer came out of the shadows to chop off the victim's head or cut them in half. "Hello?"

All of a sudden, as though a testament to Celia's thoughts, a laugh began to echo throughout the room, maniacal in nature. As it increased in volume, Celia headed blindly for the door, reaching out when she thought she was close enough to the knob to yank it open. Unfortunately, before she could feel the cold metal on her fingers, the light bulb overhead exploded, causing her to jump in surprise as glass rained down onto the floor.

The moment it happened, the laughing stopped.

Opening her eyes, she waited for her sight to adjust to give her a clear view of her harasser. Before that happened, however, something else distracted her from finding the source of her newfound fear. From behind, a hand gripped Celia around the waist, hooking her backwards against her will. Digging her heels into the hardwood, she could feel her bare feet blistering at the force of the pull, eventually bleeding under the strength. Unfortunately, her attempt to fight back was futile. Looking back to see who was dragging her, she saw nothing but air as she was being propelled toward the vast, closed window. A moment later and glass shattered behind her, the night air and sharp fragments hovering around her as she headed straight for the ground below.

She was done for, she knew it, and as she rapidly descended, the voice that had spoken to her inside her dorm room said one last thing with the hint of a grin:

"Say hi to Rachel for me!"


	6. Chapter 5

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FIVE

Connecticut Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 6, 2006  
9:41 PM

**A**my Winchester's heart pounded in her chest as she slowed to a stop on the grass outside of Connecticut Hall. A crowd had formed around whatever had happened, ten people thick and creating a circle all the way to the wall. However, judging by the students gasping, muttering under their breath, and overall crying, she had a heavy feeling that whatever had happened hadn't been anything good—and she was right.

Pushing her way through the cluster of onlookers as the rest of the DuPonte party finally caught up, Amy felt as though every move she made was in slow-motion, with only the throbbing in her chest and the racing in her mind keeping up with real time. As she roughly shoved aside students and teachers alike, nudging some too hard and causing them to fall onto the grass, Amy barely felt her hands grasp the fabric of the others' clothing, everything on her body numb as her brain tried to sort through the thousands of possibilities that had automatically begun to pile up upon hearing the news that something had happened. For some reason, something in the urgency of Stacy Miller's warning and the way the girl had looked at her had sent a chill down Amy's spine, making her feel as though she had some sort of tie to whatever was going on. As she sprinted across campus, double the speed of everyone else, Amy had become certain in her sense of relation to the hysterics now surrounding her, but yet to answer the question as to why. Chancing a glance up above, she could see that a broken window had been forced open, it's jagged remains pointing out at the night sky like a finger indicating where the people in the crowd would be able to find out what had happened and who was responsible.

Ultimately, Amy was too bothered by whatever the group was staring at to notice which way the sharpest piece of glass was directing, instead turning her attention to making it to the front. By the time she did, her heart had slowed to a dull thud, everything around her becoming muted as she stared down at the pavement underneath her feet. Lying there, still and bloody and bruised, was her friend, Celia Brown, looking much of the same way Amy had heard Rachel Richardson had been found.

All of a sudden, every person in the crowd seemed to fade as Amy took a few steps backward in surprise, her breath catching in her chest after one long inhale. Unable to take her eyes off the sight, off the blood and the teeth and glass splayed all over the concrete, Amy swallowed hard, placing both of her hands over her mouth as she tried to muffle the scream that wanted to escape her. Unfortunately, her throat seemed bunched up as Amy struggled to breathe, causing her to nearly buckle in half as she took in the details of the scene in front of her, as though trying to dedicate the sight to memory. For some reason she couldn't fathom, she felt as if she was going to need the minute information later. However, before she could get much more than the scene in front of her, someone from behind grabbed her to pull her farther back into the crowd, tugging her away from the sight.

"You don't want to be here." It was Sarah. Though Amy didn't look back to confirm the voice speaking in her ear, she knew who was dragging her backwards.

By the time they reached the edge of the cluster, the sound of police sirens barreling onto campus shocked her further, causing Amy to physically jump. As officers rushed past the two girls, barking orders at the crowd and telling them to separate or demanding to know what happened, it was clear that news cameras weren't far behind. In fact, Amy remembered, Rachel's death had been covered by both the school newspaper, then copied into the local one before it had been forgotten. Another accident, or suicide or whatever, was sure to raise even more interest, probably leading to national coverage if the story proved to have enough intrigue. The thought alone made Amy swell with anger.

"Let's go," Sarah muttered under the shouting, placing a hand on Amy's shoulder as she navigated her roommate through the labyrinth of television cameras and light stands. "You don't need to see this. Not right now."

Nodding slowly, Amy let her friend guide her away from the crowd, her chest feeling constricted as she glanced back at the scene. The grassy plane was now illuminated with bright white, shining on the backs of the students both still staring at the body on the ground and giving statements to the police. In front of the lights, newscasters spoke into microphones as they reported their breaking story, attempting to look somber beneath the eager expressions poking through every now and again. Thankfully, the gathering was still thick enough to cover the sight on the ground, meaning that Amy's last look at the area had been one that wouldn't leave a scarring impression—despite the fact that she had already committed what she had seen to memory to use for later.

The farther the two girls walked through campus, weaving their way back to the swing dorms, the more Amy's mind began to wonder. That was now two people who had mysteriously been found in the courtyard of Old Campus, both of the halls housing the fallen sitting only yards apart from one another as they sat mirroring each other across the sprawling green quad. But it couldn't be coincidence that both Rachel Richardson and Celia Brown had accidentally slipped out the window on the fifth floor, though seniors _were_ stationed on the topmost level, and it probably wasn't coincidence that both of them had fallen on a Wednesday night around the same time. In fact, the more Amy thought about it, the less she found it to be coincidence at all.

Letting out a sharp breath as they hurried their way across the school grounds, Amy was suddenly jarred with the idea of the accidents being something more. It was possible that, for the first time in the university's history, they had some sort of murder spree going on. She had read about things like that before, in books about school serial killings happening in other countries like Jerusalem or Israel, but had never imagined it happening so close to home. Every time she had dove into one of the factual novels encompassing the tragic event, Amy had had a hard time separating her usual fiction books from what was real, seeming to forget she was actually learning about a happening that had honestly taken someone's life. Now that she was staring at something similar going on at Yale, though two incidents didn't exactly point to anything concrete, she was beginning to believe she was in the middle of _Deviant Leisure_, a book about a school homicide spree in Jordan, finding herself stuck somewhere between a rock and a hard place.

However, before her thoughts could stray any further into conspiracy, Amy felt herself suddenly shocked with a jolt of reality, the truth that Celia was the one lying dead on the pavement outside of Connecticut Hall, causing her to stop in mid-step. Around her, the air was nice and warm as she stood still, feeling the breeze waft past her as Sarah's curious gaze fell on her. It was odd weather for a death. For some reason, Amy had thought it should be raining or cold, something that could be described in a crime novel as a fitting moment. Unfortunately, with the waning summer wind floating around her, it seemed as though she was in the wrong setting for a murder, or even a suicide.

_Then again_, she had to remind herself, _life isn't a book or a play_. _This is real._

Wanting to buckle under the pressure of the situation, under the weight of the emotion she was feeling, Amy swallowed hard, the sensation hurting her throat. Exhaling slowly as her body shook with grief, she closed her eyes for a moment, the blackness becoming flashed with Celia's dead body. Gasping, Amy wrapped her arms around her stomach, wishing she had her crucifix to grab onto for support. Instead, Sarah walked toward her as though able to read her mind, offering her arm as the two hobbled back toward class, Amy finding it difficult to walk from the pain in her chest.

By the time they reached their dorm and headed up the elevator, Amy was ready to be inside, her mind racing a mile a minute as she tried to sort through what was happening as well as find room to realize Celia was actually lying dead on the grounds. Opening the door to their suite, Sarah stood aside to let Amy pass, her thoughts too focused on whether or not she should have stayed to talk to the police, or if someone was going around campus, pushing people out of dorm room windows.

Unfortunately, before she could focus any more on it, something came rushing at her, causing Amy to fight against whatever was wrapping itself around her tall frame. Seeing a mess of short blonde hair, Amy sighed with relief when she realized Bailey Yost was there, pelting her somewhat newfound friend with a hug from behind. Tears streaking her face, Bailey looked as much of a wreck as Amy felt inside, her cheeks blacked with mascara and eyes red from crying. It was clear that the girl had heard about what had happened to Celia even before word had spread to the DuPonte House, and it was also clear that the first thing on Bailey's mind had been to run straight to Swing Hall to make sure her friend was okay. Touched by the idea, Amy gave Bailey a small smile, shutting the door behind her and sealing them off from the outside world.

"I can't believe it," Bailey said after a long moment of complete silence, "I can't."

"Me, either," Sarah agreed, taking a seat on the couch and running her fingers through her hair. "She was totally fine the last time I saw her in chemistry. What would cause her to jump out the window like that? Did she think that was going to bring Rachel back?"

"I don't think she jumped," Amy mumbled, sitting on the other side of Sarah. At the girls' confused looks, Amy shook her head, not wanting to say anything more than what she had already put out there. "Nothing, never mind."

Staring at her a moment, Bailey furrowed her brow, but didn't pursue the statement. Instead, she turned to look at Sarah, seeming interested in a discussion over what had happened and what they had seen. Tuning out while her friends talked over Amy racing to the front of the crowd—"bowling people over"—and nearly fainting, according to Sarah, Amy stared out the small window in the living room of their suite, suddenly realizing that it wasn't one that was likely to open. Frowning, she got up from the couch to press her fingers against the glass, wondering if all the buildings had the same top-floor security as it seemed the swing dorms did. Though the other halls, especially the ones on Old Campus, dated back to the eighteenth century whereas she and Sarah were housed in a place that only stretched into the last decade, it was possible that during the retrofittings and redecorations, the windows on the top floor had been sealed shut for safety reasons, predictably one that would have prevented Rachel Richardson's accident. Then again, if they had, it was likely the girl wouldn't have slipped out onto the walkway five stories below in the first place.

Shoving her hand further into the glass, Amy pushed as hard as possible, half wanting to place all of her curiosity and anger into the movement as well as find out how thick the glass was. However, after only a split-second of pushing, something in Amy kicked out of her, the glass under the heel of her palm cracking. Gasping in surprise, she stepped back to look at the hairpin split, noticing that the heat of her hand on the glass still hadn't faded. The disappearing of the white print gave her an idea—_fingerprints_—though why she was having them in the first place was odd. She should be mourning her friend's death, not looking for a way to place the blame on someone, if there was anyone to blame at all.

In all honesty, Amy didn't know what she was doing. She was furious, confused, concerned, and sad, and all of those things were causing her to feel exhausted. But instead of changing clothes and slipping under the covers to cry herself to sleep, she was focusing elsewhere, thinking more like a policeman or an FBI—

_Of course_.

Suddenly, Amy knew why her mind was in overdrive trying to figure out what was going on. It had been something she had been doing all summer while traveling with John Winchester, attempting to sort out what was happening and why they had been following Dean and his brother from state to state. In that time, she had come up with a thousand different solutions, none of them turning out to be true, and had scared herself a thousand different ways. At the time, she had been convinced the pair they were watching were convicted criminals that would almost certainly kill her the moment they found out what she was doing, seeming to easily accept the explanation even though the two didn't even remotely look the murderous or criminal type. But she had caused herself to believe it, just like she was causing herself to believe that there was something more behind Celia's death being so close and so similar to Rachel's. She had been pushing thoughts into her own head for months and was still at it, despite the fact that she was now far away from any situation that would cause her to do so.

Rolling her eyes at herself, Amy let the feeling go the best she could, suddenly arriving at the sadness that was clouding her emotions. Celia was gone. She had met her maker in the exact same way as her best friend, and that was something Amy was going to have to deal with and accept rather than try to peg on someone else.


	7. Chapter 6

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SIX

Swing Dorms, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, September 7, 2006  
7:09 PM

**A**my woke up the next morning feeling numb and tired. She hadn't slept well, dreaming about what had occurred the night before over and over again until the memory finally faded into a nightmare about the same thing happening to her—only instead of hitting the concrete, she had hovered over a pavement made of harsh black eyes. Confused, she had jolted herself awake much earlier than her alarm, breathing heavily as she tried to get her bearings on the world around her. What she felt as she attempted to get a grip on reality, she didn't like.

As she absently passed through the campus hallways, going through a routine that had barely etched itself into her brain after only a week of classes, Amy met stares and apologetic glances as she headed through her schedule. Every now and again, she would be stopped and asked how she was doing, since she and Taylor were the only two left who had been close to the girl, but that only happened rarely. Judging by how distant she felt from her surroundings, she guessed people were picking up on the fact that she wanted to drift from lesson to lesson rather than be confronted by the cold truth that she was down a friend.

However, that detail seemed to be something that didn't hit Bailey particularly hard, especially since she had neither known Celia more than Amy had known Rachel nor seemed to understand the concept of needing to give people space. After classes had finished on Thursday, weaning into the evening lectures that took place for students trying to cram in more than they could handle, Amy had already attempted to ditch her friend twice, wanting some alone time to sort through the pile of homework she had been given and the heavy conscience she had been carrying around with her all day. In truth, it seemed as though the latter was thicker than all the books she owned combined, weighing on her chest as she tried to focus elsewhere. Unfortunately, the guilt she felt from having skipped over mourning her friend's death to automatically assuming there had been a culprit behind the fatal accident, as it was being described once again, had dragged her down as she traveled from lecture to lecture, becoming torrential the more she thought about it and the more Bailey brought it up.

For some reason, Bailey had been stuck on a statement Amy had made the night before, repeating it over and over again as though they both were having a hard time remembering the exact words. As Bailey parroted the phrase once more—"I don't think she jumped"—Amy tried to distract her friend by changing the subject, only to have the same one drudged up _again_ a few seconds later. Giving up on trying to lay it to rest, Amy had attempted to leave Bailey behind in the thicket of people shuffling into the corridor leading to her sociology class, only to come up short when her friend found her not even a moment after they were separated. Wondering what could possibly be so bothersome about her supposition that Celia had been pushed rather than jumping on her own, Amy had finally asked what was causing Bailey to be so vocal about the idea, not partial to the answer she got in return.

"It's just… It's strange, innit? First y'all's friend Rachel and now Celia?" Bailey yammered in her Alabama drawl as they headed across campus. "And Taylor said that girl wasn't any more depressed than she was about Rachel takin' the swan dive, so why would Celia do the same thing? It doesn't make any sense! It has to be somethin' else. You were right, Amy. I don't think she jumped, either."

Rolling her eyes, Amy tried to suppress the irritation growing in her stomach as Bailey continued theorizing all the way to one of the many dining halls on campus. Though Amy wasn't even remotely hungry, the idea of shutting Bailey up with food was better than anything she could come up with. As she took a seat in the back of the oversized cafeteria filled with thick, mahogany tables and chairs and panels of windows, Amy waited for Bailey to return, resting her head on her hands and shutting her eyes. For a moment, she was thankful for the silence, glad that she finally had a few minutes to shut her brain off and relax. However, it wasn't long before Bailey returned with two plates of food, shoving both of them in front of Amy and staring at her expectantly with a small smile.

"Ya have to eat," she said, moving her eyes back and forth from Amy to the roast beef that had been placed between them. Frowning, Amy glared wearily at the dish before her, her stomach churning as though a snake had slithered its way into her intestines. Noticing the distraught expression, Bailey sighed. "C'mon. Please?"

"I'm not hungry," Amy sighed, shooting her friend a sad grin. "Thanks, though."

Slumping her shoulders, Bailey let the plates rest on the table, not bothering to move them as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the edge of the mahogany. "Listen, just think about it with me for a minute, alright? Rachel _and _Celia both topplin'? That's too much of a coincidence to even be one!"

Shrugging, Amy leaned back in her chair, her tired gaze shifting from the dining hall to the fading sunlight outside. While she could understand Bailey's point and curiosity, Amy had also promised herself that she wouldn't divulge into any conspiracy theories. Last night, when she had been frantic over who or what could have been behind pushing Celia out the window, she had pegged the ideas as something she had learned while on the road with John. After a bad night's sleep full of tossing and turning, she had woken up to agree even more strongly with the fact that her time on the road with him had been more of a hindrance than any kind of help. While she hadn't spent _that _much time with the man, nor knew much about him _or_ his "job", she had gotten a vibe from him that seemed to have rubbed off on her, as though everything was worthy of investigation, including two men who seemed to be innocuous—and also turned out to be his sons. Not wanting to be any part of that, she had left him behind in Maine to come back home and to herself, and investigating something that might or might not be there was about the same as returning to that motel in Bayview to pick up where she had left off with John and his silent demands.

Still not seeming to get the fact that Amy wasn't about to dive into some sort of inquiry as to what had happened, Bailey persisted, leaning even further on the table as she spoke in hushed tones underneath the loud conversation filling the hall. "Look, okay, I get it: it's too soon for y'all to be thinkin' about this. Let me take the first leg of this thing, alright? I'll do some diggin' and find out what's goin' on. If and when you wanna jump in on this, let me know. I just think it's important is all, and I think y'all should seriously consider it."

Frowning, Amy narrowed her eyes at Bailey's impatient tone, wondering if she had done something wrong to piss off her friend. Before she could ask, Bailey was up and across the cafeteria, heading, presumably, for the library in a building not far from where they had been sitting. Resigning, Amy got up to follow her out, pausing in the courtyard to look around. When she saw nothing but milling students she didn't know, she shrugged again before turning to head for her dorm room, hoping against hope that it would be empty by the time she got there.

Thankfully, the moment she passed through the doors, she realized she was alone, Sarah gone out somewhere, but this time leaving a note detailing that she was also at the library, researching something for her chemistry paper due sometime in October. Grateful that now was the time her roommate had decided to become studious, Amy relaxed on the couch, burying her head into the overstuffed cushions behind her.

At the moment, she would give anything to sleep. Exhaustion crowded her senses, making her dull to everything, including the homework she knew she had to do and the quiz she had to study for. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep off everything that was bothering her, and wake up ready to take on the abnormal psych reading and to find out that Celia's "accident" hadn't been fatal at all. In fact, if she could go back a whole week to erase what had happened, or maybe sleep through the next month, she would be happy. However, she knew that such things were impossible—though, maybe not the latter—and wishing for them would do nothing but cause the hole in her heart to tear open more than it already was. She was stuck where she was and that was that.

Getting up from her sitting position, Amy made her way across the room to find the book bag she had discarded upon entering her suite. Beside the door, the backpack spilled open to splay out the notes, papers, and pens sitting inside, some of them rolling away on the floor as they attempted to escape. Gathering everything that had fallen out, Amy dragged the heavy sack over to the couch, dropping it onto the coffee table as she leaned forward to look inside, trying to sort through the tops of the textbooks to find the one she was looking for. At the bottom, she discovered _Delusions of Everyday Life _sitting near the back. Pulling it out, she wrenched it open at where she had marked the page she needed, letting it drop in her lap.

In all honesty, she had no intention of learning about how the brain worked or the reasons why people did what they did. She had no interest in scanning small text on bright paper, attempting to soak in what had been said but only seeing blurs of black and white. But she had to do it if she wanted to pass the class, and since it was her final year at college, she had no other options. It was either do or die at this point in time, meaning that if she began to slip up, no matter what the reason, she wouldn't be walking away from the school in May with a diploma in her hand. Instead, she would be forced to repeat a semester or two to make up for the assignments she had pushed away to grieve the loss of a friend, something that would be reasonable at some schools, but probably not to the professors at Yale. During Rachel's death, teachers had continued to teach unblemished, seeming as though nothing had happened the night before their classes had started up that morning. It was clear that nothing was to deter the students from attending lectures and taking tests, and that not even a second death on campus would be grounds for an excuse.

Actually, the more Amy thought about it, the more she realized the normalcy of the professors earlier that day, noting that not a single one of them seemed to skip a beat when it came to the fact that people were obviously disheartened over what had happened to Celia Brown. In fact, the class Amy had shared with her friend hadn't missed a minute of lectures and note-taking, with the teacher's only acknowledgement that something _had _occurred the night before being the fact that Professor Greeley had passed over Celia's name as she read off role for the last time she would do so for the rest of the semester. While it had been more than any other teacher had done, it hadn't been enough to stop the school day entirely. Honestly, it seemed as though the staff was dealing with the accident as something of an annoyance, wanting it to be over and done with already so that they could get back to teaching. In addition to that, a ceremony like the one that had been held for Rachel hadn't been set up for Celia, causing Amy to doubt it was going to happen.

However, Amy couldn't help but think that she was taking the situation too personally due to the fact that Celia had been a friend whereas Rachel had been an acquaintance. Expecting a second remembrance service for a similar incident was a bit absurd, as was hoping the school would stop for a day to give Amy time to adjust to what had happened. Unfortunately, she was too tired to care that she was being selfish and ridiculous. All she wanted was her friend back, some sleep, and for her abnormal psych homework to be cancelled. Ultimately, though, she knew none of those things were likely to happen.

Sighing loudly as a knock on the door echoed throughout the room, Amy placed her book down on the table and crossed the room, checking to see who was standing outside through the peephole. At the threshold stood Bailey with a stack of thick volumes in her arms and an eager expression on her face that didn't seem liable to go away. Letting her friend in, Amy stared at Bailey as she headed over to the couch Amy had just abandoned, dumping the stack of books on the cushions before pivoting to look over at the other girl. Grinning wider, Bailey nearly shook with excitement as she recrossed the room to grab Amy's shoulders, positioning her beside the loveseat prior to opening her mouth to speak.

"You're not going to believe this."

"Probably not," Amy muttered, biting her lip in thought. "What?"

Smiling even broader, Bailey giddily reached up to put her hands on Amy's shoulders, shaking her lightly as though she couldn't contain her enthusiasm. After a few minutes, she finally began to share what was causing her to act so strangely, practically jumping up and down as she spoke.

"Okay, so, I was in the library, yeah?" Bailey started, talking quickly. "Just browsin' the aisles and lookin' for somethin' that might be useful. I didn't think I would come back here after what you said in the cafeteria and how y'all obviously don't want to be involved in this, even though I totally think y'all should be, but now I reckon it's too late." Pausing to take a breath, Bailey continued. "Anyway, so I was browsin' the aisles lookin' for the history of the school—for some reason, somethin' told me to do that—and I found this book that was basically like _Hogwarts, A History _for Yale. So I was lookin' through it and found this kind of like, dark spot on the page—though not literally a dark spot, but more like a mention of somethin' shady. Anyhow, so I went to go research it more, gettin' on the computer and such, to see what it was all about. It was some mention of some guy named Whitney Ellsworth and somethin' about a 'top floor'. When I Googled it, I got a whole lot more than I paid for when I found this…"

Heading for the couch, Bailey pulled out a sheet of paper shoved inside one of the many books lying there, crumpled from the way the sheaf had been jammed inside with haste. "It's an article from the _Yale Daily News _dating back to 1906. Apparently, Whitney Ellsworth was only one of a handful people mentioned. Also apparently, there was a string of what looked like suicides on campus, all men livin' on the fifth floor of different Halls and all found splattered on the ground just like with Rachel and Celia."

Amy furrowed her brow, wondering what the past could possibly have do with what was happening in the present. "Okay? I don't get it."

"You ever read _Red Key_ by Edith Wharton?" Bailey asked after a moment, waiting for Amy to shake her head before slumping her shoulders in disappointment. Sighing, Bailey nudged Amy toward the overstuffed sofa, guiding her like a child about to be sat down for a lecture. Allowing herself to be steered onto the cushion not being taken up with piles of books, Amy frowned, wondering what was going on as Bailey's bright blue gaze met the curious sage green with a hint of seriousness. "Sit down, Winchester. You're in for a bumpy ride."


	8. Chapter 7

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SEVEN

Connecticut Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Friday, September 8, 2006  
12:04 AM

**A**my was having a hard time following Bailey's train of thought as her friend went over and over the same subjects again, repeating the story of the Red Key that had apparently come from a nineteenth-century horror novel, one that outlined subjects such as evil spirits and ghosts bent on revenge. It was as if the girl had gone insane, rambling on about the abnormal and the supernatural as if those things were fact rather than fiction, pointing to events that had happened on campus a hundred years ago as a contributing factor to both Rachel and Celia's deaths as though the same thing had been behind the "murders", explaining them off as some sort of crazed spectre trying to reenact whatever had gone on a century ago for vengeance's sake—or something.

So far, Amy had only been able to catch a few other things than that, such as the fact that the reason Bailey believed the two girls' deaths were more than accidental being that the same thing had happened on campus around the same time in 1906, which she repeated often. According to Bailey, Whitney and his friends, four total, had all jumped from their windows on the same night of separate weeks, mirroring what had happened at both McClellan and Connecticut Halls almost exactly. Not only that, said Bailey as she continued speaking in a fevered fashion, but there had been more similarities to prove it to be more than mere coincidence. All of the deaths had happened from the top floor of the building, all had been in the same year of school, and lastly, the deaths had all been gender-specific—the first time guys and this time girls, though the gender-bend had yet to be explained, along with why the hell Bailey had jumped straight to ghosts in the first place. Amy had been given nothing to convince her of the sort except for odd similarities and not much else, no matter how long the other girl continued to talk.

However, the more Bailey prattled on about how sure she was a ghost was behind the "murders", the less Amy was convinced of her friend's sanity. It seemed as though Bailey was absolutely certain she was right about what had happened, trying to make an incident from long ago fit her criteria, and was attempting to make Amy sure of it as well as she hammered the obscure idea into her head. Ultimately, none of it was sinking in, with Amy becoming stuck at the idea of a poltergeist, or whatever, attacking people she knew for some reason unknown to her. In all honesty, she had never believed in spirits or aliens or witches or whatever else the young-adult fiction section could throw at her. While she was interested in the topic of the supernatural, there was a line between honestly accepting it as reality and reading books about it for fun, and it seemed as though Bailey was seriously crossing that line as she attempted to drill in what she deemed absolute truth into her friend's mind.

Unfortunately, mainly due to the fact that Amy was drained of energy and just wanted to curl up in bed, she had no idea how to shake off Bailey and her conspiracy theories. In the time that they had been sitting in the common room of Amy's suite, she had attempted to get up, walk around, plug in the television, and make a pot of coffee while Bailey continued on, not picking up the hint that Amy was trying to find a nice way to tell her friend to leave. As she rambled about spirits and smells and whatever else she had managed to convince herself of while at the university library, Amy stared out the window, focusing on the crack she had pushed into the single pane of glass the night before. It was only a sliver, but in the light reflecting off the night sky, it was noticeable from across the room.

For some reason, the idea that she had been angry enough push out the energy to fracture a window bothered her. After she had returned from the scene of Celia's death, Amy had been so preoccupied with the thought of someone shoving her friend to her doom that it angered her into taking it out on an inanimate object. However, she didn't think her fury would result in cracking a window, no matter how hard she pushed; although, she had to admit, there had been something more to the rupture in the glass than just that. Something had come out of her, almost like a punch, tightening her grip on the surface until it broke. It was a strange sensation, one she hadn't felt before, and not one that she wanted to feel again.

Sighing quietly, Amy turned her attention away from the window to look back at Bailey. By now, the girl had settled down on the coffee table, staring intently at her friend as though dissatisfied with her lack of concentration. Slumping her shoulders, Amy suddenly felt sorry for the way she was treating Bailey and the fact that she was blatantly letting it be known that she was disbelieving in the idea that a ghost had murdered Celia. Resigning, Amy slouched back into the couch, softening her eyes as she looked at her friend, hoping the look would convey her apology. A moment later and Bailey was on her feet, the excitement she had walked in with, which had temporarily vanished during the glare, now returning full-throttle. Heading for the door, she pivoted to look back at Amy, biting back a smile as she reached for the handle.

"Come on. I'll prove it to you."

Furrowing her brow, Amy bunched her jaw before joining her friend at the threshold, locking her suite behind her prior to trailing down the hall behind Bailey. As they walked, trying to remain as silent as possible, Amy wondered where they could be going that would back Bailey's claims, hoping that it would be somewhere inside the building to keep them from being asked by campus police where they were going at this time of night. Ever since Rachel's fatal "accident", security had been buffed up and patrols had been lengthened, with the officers scanning the area suddenly becoming more and more enthused with their job. According to a few conversations Amy had overheard in class, the cops roaming the grounds on golf carts were acting as though they were searching for criminals, picking up students as if they had just walked in on a drug bust. Apparently anyone caught walking around after dark was automatically suspected of something mistrusting, causing Amy to wonder, now that Bailey seemed to be under the impression that the deaths hadn't been an accident, whether or not the staff knew more than they were leading on.

_Hell_, Amy thought with a smirk, following closer, _maybe this is some ghost thing._

While they walked, ducking behind columns and trees every time a pair of headlights came in their direction, Bailey continued on about what she had learned in the library and how that corroborated with _Red Key_ by Edith Wharton.

"The book is so named b'cause the key is covered with blood," Bailey whispered. "I mean, I know it sounds all cryptic, but that's b'cause it is. In the story, this woman enters the house of her lord, basically her husband, to find him dead, with a ghost standin' over him. Then, after this really eloquent fight with the damn thing, she sprays salt all over the place until it disappears. I know you reckon it sounds really ridiculous, but there's enough information on the subject to back it up. Apparently salt is a really pure mineral that—"

Stopping a moment to glance around before pulling the thick wooden door open to Connecticut Hall, Bailey paused before turning to Amy, as though making sure the girl was still behind her. Frowning, Amy wondered what they were doing here and how they were going to get into Celia's former room, especially since it was almost certain the other girls left behind had probably beefed up security as well. Taking a deep breath and nodding, Amy allowed her friend to lead the way. As they continued inside, so did Bailey and her speech, chattering on in hushed tones as they hurried for the elevator and tapped their feet impatiently as the lift rose to the fifth floor. By the time they got to suite three, it was clear that the room had been taped off, with a note on the door listing the relocation of the other students inside. According to the note, Taylor had been placed in an isolated room in Dwight Hall, whereas the other two girls had been situated across campus. Sighing in relief at the idea of not having to ask for permission inside and not having to explain themselves, Amy waited for Bailey to turn the knob, wondering if it would open. When the sound of metallic shuffling hit her ears, signaling that they were locked out, Amy bit her lip, ready to turn back and head to her own suite. Unfortunately, before she could do so, the door swung wide in front of them, causing both girls to jump.

In the threshold stood Taylor, looking weary and exhausted, her eyes narrowed in the darkness and hair tousled as though just having woken up. Biting her lip and grimacing, Amy quickly apologized, hoping Taylor wouldn't start to cry or shout, judging by the frustrated look on her face. Instead, she just stared, her eyes switching between Bailey and Amy every now and again as though silently wondering what was going on. After a long moment, she stepped aside, grabbing the yellow caution tape from where it had loosely hung from the doorframe and throwing it onto the ground. Following her in, Amy shut the door behind her as Bailey automatically looked for the broken window, seeing only that the one in the living room was still intact. Heading into the bedroom nearest them, she disappeared inside, leaving Amy and Taylor alone to talk for the first time since Celia's accident.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked softly, reaching a hand out to place on her friend's arm.

Pulling away, Taylor took a step back, keeping her eyes on the open archway Bailey had vanished through. Taking a moment to glance back at Amy before returning her stare, Taylor nearly growled. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Bailey had this… idea," Amy sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she spoke, hoping she could explain the situation without making it appear as though she was just as crazy as Bailey was becoming. "Apparently she thinks ghosts did this."

Raising an eyebrow, Taylor scoffed. "What the fu—"

"Amy!" Bailey's frantic voice shouted from the other room. "Come here!"

Jumping in surprise, Amy headed into the bedroom, Taylor not far behind. At the sill of the broken window stood Bailey, one of her hands reaching forward to swipe dust onto her finger. Lifting it up to take a look at it, Bailey shot the two girls in the doorway a wide-eyed stare, causing Amy to cross the room to see what was happening. On the tip of her friend's index digit sat a yellow powder, shadowed and muted in the moonlight. Reaching forward to mirror Bailey's movement, Amy touched the residue, rubbing it in her hand before smelling it. The odor was foul, seeming a mix of rotten eggs and tar. Brushing her fingers off through the open window, Amy turned to look at Taylor, wondering how her friend was doing.

"Sulfur," Bailey interrupted suddenly, causing both girls to look at her. "I was right."

"Right about _what_? About ghosts?" Taylor laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, save it for the crazy ward, Sherlock Holmes. That stuff was probably left there when they were dusting for fingerprints. Nice try, though. A for Effort or what have you."

Grimacing to herself, Amy looked between Taylor and Bailey, noticing that the two were currently engaged in a staring contest. Stepping between them, Amy broke up the heated glares, waving her hands to get both of their attentions. As her friends snapped out of their glowers, Amy glanced from one to the other, trying to make peace for a moment while they figured out what was going on. The powder in the window certainly wasn't from any sort of forensic evidence kit, nor was the idea that a spirit was behind the deaths plausible. However, if there was some sort of dust in the sill, what had left it and why had it stayed for so long? The window had been open for two nights, with a breeze strong enough to blow it away. As far as she knew, sulfur wasn't any denser than any other powders.

"Let's just think about this, okay?" Amy said finally, leaning against the edge of Celia's left-behind bed. "There are two ways we can go here: conspiracy theory or accepting the cops' ruling that this was a suicide. Knowing Celia, though, the last one isn't likely."

"Exactly what I've been saying!" Bailey piped up.

"But what does it matter?" Taylor groaned. "It's not going to bring her back."

"No, but there could be more lives at stake!" Bailey argued, stepping away from the window as a strong, warm breeze carried into the room. "Something similar to this happened in 1906. If what's happening now goes in any way like what was going on then, then we have to stop it before someone else gets hurt."

Frowning, Amy looked at Bailey. "Why is that our job?"

"Exactly," Taylor scoffed. "Amy and I are already down two friends. How does that suddenly make whatever you think is going on our responsibility? If you want to go outside and play Wonder Woman with your kindergarten pals, that's fine. Just leave us out of it."

Biting her lip, Amy glanced down at the floor. While she agreed with what Taylor was saying, she also felt bad leaving Bailey out to dry like that. Though she didn't exactly believe in what her friend was saying, she could at least lend a hand—for something to do, if nothing else. While the theory was whacked-out and overall crazy, the distraction could help her deal with what had happened in some odd way. Maybe pretending something out of the ordinary had killed her friend would ease the mourning process in some way. Unfortunately, it was also possible of the opposite, that investigating would do more harm than good.

Taking a long breath in through her nose, Amy turned away from Bailey to change the subject, instead focusing on the fact that her friend was back inside her old dorm rather than residing in her new one. Asking her about it, Taylor shrugged off the question, muttering something about not wanting to leave. Slumping her shoulders, Amy sighed, offering the pull-out loveseat in her suite as a temporary place to crash. Refusing it, Taylor rolled her eyes, nodding her head toward the door. Silently, Amy obeyed the motion, trailed closely behind by Bailey. After a long second, they were both out in the hallway, followed quickly with the heavy slamming of Suite 3's door.


	9. Chapter 8

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EIGHT

Yale University Library  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Tuesday, September 12, 2006  
8:18 PM

**I**t had been four days since Bailey had first brought up the idea of Celia and Rachel being killed by ghosts, and it seemed as though in that time, the girl had yet to drop the subject, becoming more and more obsessed with drilling what she deemed to be truth into Amy's head as she rambled on specifics such as ways to get rid of them, how to protect themselves, and why they had shown up now as opposed to any other time in the past century—neither of which Amy had listened to. According to Bailey, who seemed to pick up on Amy's silent belligerence, it was their job to figure out what was going on and how to stop it, meaning that she had designated herself a pile of research and holed herself up in her dorm room, telling Amy that she would eventually come around to the idea.

In the meantime, Amy had been spending time with Taylor in her new, empty suite across campus, trying in equal parts to both hide from Bailey and to console her friend. The suggestion that Rachel and Celia had been pushed rather than jumping on their own had upset Taylor more than Amy thought it would, causing Taylor to clam up and become silent for days after Bailey had dropped the bomb. While it was obvious that neither of them believed the other girl's frantic claims that they were dealing with some sort of spirit intent on getting revenge or whatever, it had planted a seed that maybe the deaths _had _been more than an accident. In fact, the more both of them discussed it, the more Taylor and Amy became curious as to how Rachel, intoxicated or not, and Celia, with a broken window, could have fallen to their doom. However, the supposition never left the room, staying only amongst Amy and Taylor in case Bailey caught word of it and jumped in with her insane theories.

Ultimately, though, neither girl could remain holed up inside the dorm for very long, with classes and studying taking them away from what they silently deemed their "safe place". As they walked in pairs from lesson to lesson, only breaking when they had differing schedules or Amy needed to return to Swing Hall for a book, the two were careful to avoid Bailey in case she started rambling on about ghosts again. While Amy felt bad that they were going to such extremes, especially since Bailey was still a friend regardless of her ideas, she had yet to get in the mood for discussion since she and Taylor had talked themselves out, determining that while what had happened was weird, trying to figure out what went on wasn't going to bring their friends back. Instead, they navigated their way through the corridors, attempting to divert themselves from the path Amy knew Bailey took to class, until they were able to return to Dwight Hall at night, settling into the quiet the large suite offered.

Unfortunately, Sarah and Amy had a research project due for abnormal psychology soon, and since neither of them seemed to talk outside of class anymore, Amy was probably going to have to do the lion's share of the work. While she understood that Sarah was angry over Amy choosing to room with Taylor for awhile without talking to her about it, especially since that meant neither could find each other in case Sarah needed to drag Amy to a party with her, she couldn't get why Sarah was so intent on freezing her out. While they had been listening to Professor Gray's lecture on psychopaths earlier in the morning, stopping near the end of the lesson to assign research groups, Sarah had sat on the other side of the room, jotting down notes and avoiding Amy's curious stares. By the time their names were announced to work together, Sarah had clearly disapproved, bolting from class before Amy could get a chance to talk to her. Upset, she had grabbed the paper detailing their assignment from the student teacher handing them out, reading it over and making a mental note to start on the project once she was done with school for the day.

However, now that she sat at an abandoned table in the back of the spacious, ornate Yale University Library, Amy couldn't help but feel naked with nothing hiding her from the front door or the possibility of Bailey walking in to interrupt her homework with some new finding. While she had picked a place she thought had shoved her behind the stacks of shelves and information desk, she had quickly realized she was out in the open rather than concealed from sight as the gap through the bookcases pointed straight to the entrance. Before she could move, though, groups of other students took up the available spaces, leaving Amy where she was, unable to focus as she looked around every few seconds to make sure she wasn't about to be narrowed in on with theories of ghosts and spirits.

Hunkering down in front of the book being propped up against a stack of others, Amy kept her finger pointed on a few lines of text, jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad sitting before her. As she scribbled facts about religious psychosis, the assignment that had been given to her and Sarah, Amy couldn't help but smirk at some of the definitions in the book. According to the author, psychosis referred to losing touch with reality, which could lead to grandiose ideas and explanations. Grinning, Amy bit the tip of her pen as she thought about Bailey and how fitting the description had become of her friend. Though she wasn't about to diagnose the girl as insane, especially since this was just one incident, Amy couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into her. Bailey had been perfectly fine for the months since their first meeting, coming off completely normal, so what had changed that? It was possible that, due to the fact they had only known each other a short while, Bailey had always been inclined to believe the supernatural rather than the natural, though that didn't seem to fit her. The books on her shelves were Shakespearean classics and modern romance novels, with none of them any weirder than the _Red Key _story she kept mentioning. Honestly, the sudden confidence in the abnormal bothered Amy, causing her to wonder what the hell had sparked it, since it had to have been more than a trip to the library Amy was currently sitting in.

Frowning, Amy continued writing notes, seeing no more parallels between her friend and the description of the mental condition she was reading about. When she had finished with the textbook she had been copying, she moved onto the next, switching it with the first book she had been reading and opening it to the page the index listed as appropriate. Starting again, Amy tried to sift through what she already knew, trying to keep her mind from wandering as she became bored with the small font and repetitive words. There was no way she was going to finish the assignment all by herself, especially if she was too busy being preoccupied with Bailey's weirdness and trying to console Taylor's sadness. While it was obvious Taylor had taken two hits as opposed to Amy's one in terms of the death toll, it was also clear that Taylor was taking it harder than Amy, making it seem as though her friend had fallen into an depressed rut. Though Amy was upset and missed Celia, for some reason she couldn't find a way to feel it. It was as though her emotional receptors had been shut off, only turning on every now and again as though permitting the grief to trickle through in small amounts to allow for better digestion. While she was grateful she wasn't getting bowled over with sorrow all at once, it bothered her that she wasn't able to connect with Taylor's unhappiness. Before, she would have been able to cry with her friend, but now she felt… nothing.

_Maybe there's something wrong with me, too_.

Unfortunately, before she could dwell on the thought, the doors to the library swung open to reveal Bailey, a stack of books in her hands as she headed for the return across the way. Ducking underneath the volumes in front of her, Amy pretended to focus intently on the texts hiding her from view, bowing her head so that her hair hid her face. Ultimately, though, if the girl looked in her direction, they would see one another. The desk Bailey was now standing at was a straight shot from where Amy sat, meaning one glance in her direction would alert the girl that her friend was there as well. For a second, Amy wondered whether or not she should get up to leave, attempt in some way to slip past Bailey out into the courtyard. However, with the check-in desk being right next to the heavy wooden doors, it was unlikely she would be able to head out invisibly. Instead, she sat still, hoping Bailey would turn around and go without taking a moment to look around.

Ultimately, though, she wasn't that lucky. The moment Bailey received her student ID back from the girl sitting behind the counter, she pivoted straight for where Amy was sitting, waving excitedly as though seeing her friend for the first time in a week. While Amy knew that was practically true, especially since it had been about four days, she didn't understand why Bailey was so enthusiastic. Wondering if maybe she had unearthed some weird piece of evidence she wanted to share, maybe something relating to ghosts and sulfur or whatever correlation she had drawn on Friday night, Amy waited for Bailey to sit across from her and share, somewhat curious as to what her friend could possibly have dug up now.

"We need to talk," Bailey said with a heavy sigh, the excitement ebbing away.

Frowning, Amy narrowed her eyes inquiringly. "About what?"

"About why y'all have been avoidin' me," Bailey answered. "I know y'all don't believe me with all this 'ghost stuff' or whatever, but I think it's important to talk about. Somethin' weird is going on, Amy."

"I know," Amy sighed. "I just don't understand how you got to that conclusion."

Slumping her shoulders, Bailey reached for the bag placed in the chair beside her, something Amy hadn't noticed in the time she had been attempting to remain hidden. From inside the brown leather satchel, Bailey removed a small book that appeared to be a journal, the cardboard-like cover cracked and bent from what looked like centuries of use. Placing it on top of Amy's notes, Bailey tapped the front of it, speaking as she did so.

"I found this inside of somethin' I checked out of here. It was slipped inside like someone was meanin' for me to find it," Bailey began to explain. "Inside is everythin' that had happened those nights I've been telling y'all about in 1906, includin' theories as to what was behind it. Judgin' by the handwritin', I would reckon a girl wrote this, but I can't really prove that. Regardless, everythin' in there lines up with what's goin' on now. If everythin' hadn't clicked, I wouldn't have believed it myself, but after readin' it, it makes a lot more sense." Pausing a moment, Bailey bit her lip. "Just read it, alright?"

Nodding, Amy picked up the book, flipping through the pages inside. On unlined squares about as big as her hand, calligraphy stretched across the yellowed white, hard to read in some places due to the ink of the pen blotting. Closing it after a long while, Amy placed it in her backpack, making sure to be careful where she put it. Turning back to look at Bailey, her friend stared blankly forward, looking as though she were trying to read the expression on Amy's face. Biting her lip, Amy glanced back, tapping her pen tip against her notepad in thought. By looks alone, it appeared that Bailey was losing her edge, with bags forming under her eyes as though she hadn't slept, and skin looking sallow. Narrowing her gaze, Amy looked closer at her friend, hoping that her and Taylor's avoidance of Bailey wasn't a contributing factor to whatever was making the girl seem worse for wear.

"I talked to Sarah earlier," Bailey said finally, tearing her stare away from Amy to look at the books between them. "She said y'all haven't been in Swing Hall much."

"Yeah," Amy admitted. "I've been in Dwight with Taylor."

Nodding slowly, Bailey looked around, the enthusiasm she had expressed when they had first encountered each other gone. It seemed as though the temporary energy that had lifted her friend's spirits had disappeared, replaced now with tiredness. The look on Bailey's face was reminiscent of how Taylor had looked for the past few days, causing Amy to wonder whether or not this whole ghost-hunting adventure was taking a toll on her as much as the deaths on campus were hindering the other girl. Swallowing hard, Amy reached forward to place a comforting hand on Bailey's upturned palm, giving her a small smile. However, before the reassurance she was hoping to convey had passed, something more jarring caused Amy's insides to squirm. It was as though a snake had found its way into her intestines, winding around in her stomach until Amy released her grip on Bailey. Physically jolting, she pulled her hand back, tensing until the sensation faded away.

Worried, Bailey sent her friend a glance. "You okay?"

"Fine," Amy lied.

For some reason, Amy kept experiencing the same sensation, the same squirming feeling, but this time, the feeling was different. Unfortunately, unlike a few days ago when she had last felt it, this round was more intense. Amy's body was rigid, hair standing on end, and heart hammering, reminding her of whenever she would come into contact with the brothers Amy had been asked to watch while on the road with John. Ultimately, though, this even differed from that, causing Amy to feel like a black cloud had suddenly found its way over the conversation she was having. Sitting back in her chair, Amy swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, hoping that she wasn't about to be sick in the middle of the school library for everyone to see. While the snake in her stomach had gone, it had left behind a twisting in her gut that threatened to make everything she had eaten that day come back up.

Standing up quickly, Amy gathered her things, peering at Bailey as surprise covered her friend's face. Placing her notebooks, pens, and sheets of paper detailing her assignment into her bag, Amy swung it over her shoulders before fully looking at Bailey, only seeing a blur where she sat. Realizing that it was possible she was about to pass out, Amy turned and headed for the door, giving Bailey one last glance before bolting for fresh air.

"I'm sorry."


	10. Chapter 9

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

NINE

Dwight Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Tuesday, September 12, 2006  
10:27 PM

**T**aylor Rosen was tired of everything—from having to go to class to having to listen to Bailey's claims about ghosts killing her friends—and just wanted to shut it all off. She hadn't slept well in over a week, even with Amy staying in her suite to keep her company, and it didn't look as though rest was on the horizon any time soon.

Ever since Celia had died, things had seemed empty and worthless, including attending school. There wasn't a point to waking up in the morning, going to bed at night, or anything that came in between that. Taylor had lost her best friend, and there was a hole that wasn't going to be fixed, no matter how much Amy tried to console her or how hard Bailey tried to make both of them believe that something supernatural was behind the fall from the top-floor window. It was a fruitless effort on both parts, one that was a considerable waste of time for either girl seeing as Taylor wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of her life, or until she was able to cope with the idea that Celia was actually gone. If she could choose, she would honestly rather stay in bed than have to deal with anything at all.

However, that's not how things at Yale worked. The education train didn't stop for anyone, regardless of horrible experiences. Right after her friend's body had been carted off to the morgue, Taylor was expected to head to class the next day, acting as though nothing had happened the night before. Ultimately, though, no matter how hard she tried to live up to the expectations imposed on her, she couldn't carry the weight holding her down and shifting her focus. No matter how much she wanted to appear normal, she couldn't do it, with her mind racing a hundred miles an hour, trying to process what she had seen outside of Connecticut Hall last Wednesday. Every time she attempted to zone in on a particular subject—most importantly, English, mainly due to the fact that it was her major—Taylor found herself peering out the window, a series of bloody images crossing her mind as she gazed out at the bright, almost-fall day.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to be alone in feeling that way. With Amy's thousand-yard stare every once in awhile and her somewhat-friend, Tracy Ritter's—who had been at the party with her the night of Rachel's death—eyes glossing over every minute of the past week, Taylor felt assured that she wasn't the only one lagging behind in school. As classes picked up, with professors assigning research papers and group projects, it was as though nothing on campus had happened, with no one pausing a moment to allow the girls affected by their friends' deaths to be brought up to speed. As time went on, Taylor began to appear more and more behind, with her textbooks remaining closed and homework not being turned in on the right date. Though she was sure at least _some_ of her teachers were understanding, there were others who seemed less sympathetic and more apathetic toward her woes.

Now, unfortunately, she had no choice but to catch up to her racing classes. Sitting with her American Literature book in her lap, she underlined phrases, book titles, and everything else that could be used on future tests, making sure to highlight them after she was done with her reading. As she worked, the clock on the coffee table ticked away, as though timing her progress and telling her she was going too slow. While she knew the thing wasn't actually talking or signaling her, she had to agree with its complaint; at the rate she was going, it was likely graduation would have come and gone without her being any the wiser. Ultimately, though, the process wasn't for naught. Making sure to memorize each line to the best of her ability, Taylor waited until she was sure she had it before moving on, hoping to remember the information photographically the longer she stared at it.

After an hour had ticked by of her glaring at the book in front of her, soaking up the words on the page, Taylor finally set it aside to stand up, stretching as she did so. Her back hurt, her knees cracked, and everything felt tense and exhausted. While she knew she hadn't been sitting on the futon for _that _long, she also knew that she hadn't slept in a fair few days either, knowing that if she did, she would be woken up again by either her alarm or students gathering in the halls on their way to class. Though she knew most people tried their hardest to remain quiet for those with later lessons, or at least they had in her former dorms, she had yet to experience a busy morning in Dwight Hall. Each day, she had been up before everyone else, slipping out the front door and heading down to the dining room to beat the other students to the cereal bar. Picking up one of everything, and charging it on her card, she then snuck up day after day to eat alone in bed, usually finishing before Amy woke up in the next room and never catching her friend acting like a pig with a trough. While she knew it was weird to be so exiled, she also knew that other kids had been shooting her curious glances as she walked past them, all probably gawking now that she had lost two friends in a month and was constantly red from crying.

Letting out a deep breath, Taylor paced the floor of the common room, wondering if Amy was coming back for the night. For the past four days, her friend had stayed in her suite, probably an equal attempt to bail on Bailey just as much as it was to comfort Taylor. However, despite the fact that she enjoyed Amy being there, Taylor wanted her to stay away for the evening to leave her to her thoughts. While her friend wasn't particularly vocal, hardly saying much of anything unless she was being spoken to, and wouldn't be much of a bother, Taylor wanted to spend the night alone. She had studying and focusing to do, as well as a ton of sorting through her mind to work on, and was probably going to sleep tonight as opposed to all the others. If Amy stayed, regardless of how quiet she was, Taylor would hear her get up and head to class in the morning, meaning that she would be without a good night's rest for the surprise test she knew was coming in her physics class tomorrow. Unfortunately, though, that meant preparing for both that _and_ reading the six chapters she had slacked on in American English—which required more concentration than she could give, even while she was alone.

Stopping in mid-step as the sound of "You've got mail!" came from her open bedroom door, Taylor turned and headed for her computer, noticing that the screen had been propped up even though she could have sworn she had left it shut. Clicking open the AOL browser she had used for the past decade, she navigated the mouse toward the mailbox icon, letting a window cascade down to display the subject and sender of the message. Staring at it, she saw nothing but a blank space. A second later, a piece of text appeared, reading simply, "No messages to display". Frowning, Taylor shut off the computer, closing the lid and placing her diary on top of the shut screen.

Making a beeline for the common area once again, Taylor slumped back into her spot on the couch, grabbing the materials she had abandoned and grasping them in her hands. Flipping the textbook open and pushing the lead out of her mechanical pencil, she resumed her work, underlining nearly every other word as she progressed through the information. After a long minute of concentration, another noise sounded, this one of something heavy hitting the ground of her bedroom. Biting her lip, Taylor got to her feet, letting the pencil roll from the couch onto the floor as she freed her hands. Heading for the room she had just left, she scanned the area, finding her journal resting on the hardwood while her computer screen sat open, a new "compose message" window sitting in the center of the monitor. Nearing it, Taylor narrowed her eyes to read the text displayed beside a blinking cursor, only to realize that it was jumbled:

WEALTHILY OR GENUINE DO-GOODER

Frowning, Taylor stared at the screen, attempting to figure out what the words meant. In all honesty, it looked like a jumbled non-sequitur, but the words meant nothing in comparison to wondering how they had gotten there. The computer had been closed and off, with a book, now on the floor, sitting on top. Bending down to pick up the diary, Taylor flipped it open absently, keeping her eyes on the screen as though expecting it to begin typing on its own. However, all the machine seemed to do was sit there, the cursor blinking at her in time with the ticking of the clock in the other room.

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the common area, echoing throughout the suite and causing Taylor to jump. Dropping the journal back where it had been lying on the floor, she rushed out of her bedroom, skidding to a stop beside the futon. On the ground next to the end table sat a jumble of wood, glass, and metal pieces, most of the metallic bits strewn across the floor as they rolled away. Taking a short breath in surprise, Taylor neared what used to be her mini grandfather clock, the one she had listened to for years when things were silent. It had been a monotonous sound that had kept her sane. Now, however, with the clock sitting in a broken heap on the floor, everything felt too quite—as well as frightening. Someone, or some_thing_, was in here, messing with her; first with the computer and then with the object Taylor had used to calm herself. It was as if someone were trying to drive her mad.

All of a sudden, Taylor couldn't control her emotions, instead becoming overwhelmed with the idea of someone intentionally ruining everything she loved. Her friends had died, her schoolwork was suffering, and now the clock she had gotten for a birthday long ago, that was in no way reparable or replicable, was a shattered mess. That, in combination with no sleep, caused Taylor to begin to cry, exhaustion and confusion waving over her all at once. Unfortunately, before she could do anything more than shed a few tears, something more disturbing came forth. From the opposite side of the room, books began to fly off the shelves, pelting her one after another as she tried to cover her face with her arms. Heading for the door, Taylor wrenched it open and slammed it behind her as she started for Swing Hall, wondering if maybe there was some sort of truth to Bailey's claims.

* * *

Across campus, Amy Winchester stared at the ancient, cracked book sitting in her lap, wondering what the hell she was reading. Bailey had given it to her, telling Amy that it accounted for her reasoning behind the ghost phenomenon, but all she saw was a bunch of scribbles about nothing. According to the thing, which seemed to be a diary of some kind, Jack Richardé had jumped from his room on the top floor of Connecticut Hall in 1906 a week after Whitney Ellsworth had done the same thing. Also according to the diary, that had been the same day that Mary Collins had stolen the author of the book's, who seemed to be named Mary as well, potential husband by being a "hussy". While the thing was an interesting read—some of the time, anyway—it didn't explain anything related to what was going on now. Something similar happening a hundred years apart was nothing more than coincidence, if that.

However, with all of her homework done and her discussion with Sarah over abandoning their dorm through, Amy had nothing else to do rather than read the thing Bailey had given her. Ultimately, though, all she could see were squabbles over boyfriends and the frustration at not being allowed to study medicine like the men on campus were able to. Thankfully, every now and again, she would catch snippets about the Pig War in Serbia and its effects on America at the time. Despite that, while it was possible Amy wasn't far enough in, she had yet to see anything about what Bailey had indicated. It seemed not even the author was particularly interested in what had happened on campus back then, not knowing anyone who had died or caring enough to construct a conspiracy theory.

Unfortunately, Amy was curious enough to keep looking. As she read through pages detailing the author's ideals for graduating with a music degree to go on to play at Carnegie Hall, Amy tapped her fingers of her free hand against her knees, every once in awhile reaching up to grab the chain of the necklace she forgot was no longer there. Fortunately, before she could divulge herself into a story about Mary Collins and her unbelievable lack of tact, a forceful knocking echoed throughout the suite, causing Amy to drop her book and Sarah to abandon her room to find out what was happening. Heading for the archway, Amy reached for the knob, twisting it open to reveal Taylor standing in the threshold, looking as pale as Amy had ever seen.

Rushing inside, Taylor waited for Amy to shut the door behind her, turning to look at both girls as she paced in front of them. Shooting Amy a confused frown, Sarah furrowed her brows before turning to stare back at Taylor, a manic expression on her face that was similar to the one Bailey had been wearing for the past week.

"I saw it," Taylor muttered suddenly, stopping in mid-stride.

Swallowing hard, Amy bunched her jaw, wondering if the reason Taylor looked so upset was because someone else had fallen from a window. If that were true, Amy was undoubtedly going to wonder if there was something to the spirit theory. As she was about to ask what Taylor had seen, Sarah cut her off, looking huffy.

"What are you talking about?"

Eyes flickering between the blonde and brunette in front of her, Taylor's brown stare went back and forth quickly, looking as though she were watching a tennis match. Abruptly, the flittering stopped, settling on Amy as Taylor spoke in a grave voice.

"I saw a ghost."


	11. Chapter 10

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TEN

Yale University Library  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 13, 2006  
11:49 AM

**A**my had had a hard time believing Taylor's ghost story, especially when it came at the opportune time of Bailey pushing the same thing, but after returning to the girl's suite, she had seen enough to convince her as such.

From the moment she had walked through the front door, Amy had taken in the state of the common room, which had been covered with books, magazines, and loose sheets of paper that cloaked the floor. The couch was overturned, the cushions strewn all over the place, and the end tables where upside down, their legs pointing toward the ceiling. In the bedroom, things were worse. Taylor's computer was smashed to pieces underneath a fallen bookshelf that had collapsed against the desk, while her twin-sized bed was standing propped against the back of the door, making it almost impossible to open. According to Taylor, who had followed Amy into her suite, the place hadn't looked nearly as bad when she had left, but with every entrance into the room locked off to everyone else in the dorm, it was almost impossible to peg the ransacking on someone inside of Dwight Hall or otherwise—unless they Spidermanned their way in through the open window.

Heading back to Amy's side of campus, Taylor lagged behind, kicking at the grass with every step she took. As they walked, Amy could feel a sense of energy growing, one that made her legs unable to function properly while they headed back to the swing dorms. It was as if every sort of sugar rush she had ever felt had accumulated in her body all at once, numbing the bottom half of her as she attempted to make her way up to the fifth floor. Standing in the elevator, Amy tapped her toes against the laminate flooring while Taylor leaned against the handrails, her shoulders slumped forward as she continued to stare downward. By the time they made it back to Amy's room, the energy she felt was uncontainable, causing her to pace instead of sit down next to her conflicted friend.

However, as they talked over what had happened, with Taylor giving Amy a play-by-play of the events leading up to her sprinting across school grounds, the vigor she was experiencing began to wear off, dissipating the more into the story she became. Apparently, everything had started with the computer making noise, eventually leading up to Taylor becoming pelted with books from her shelves. Making her retell it again, Amy listened closely, trying to figure out if maybe her friend was too distressed to miss something obvious, such as someone sneaking into her room and messing with her. Unfortunately, after the third go-around, Amy had figured that there would be no way she would miss someone throwing things at her, unless they were invisible.

From there, everything had become silent as Sarah, whom Amy had all but forgotten was sitting in the room as well, got up to head for the student store downstairs for drinks, leaving Taylor and Amy to remain stewing in their juices. Eventually, taking a seat beside her friend, Amy had come up with nothing that would explain what happened, causing the two of them to head for the computer in Amy's bedroom for help. As they sat side-by-side at the desk, their chairs barely able to fit behind the small piece of furniture, the two of them Googled possible alternative theories, both hoping against hope that this was something other than a ghost. Ultimately, looking through pages and pages of search results, they landed on nothing _but _spirit stories, giving Amy a weird feeling. Something about this didn't feel right.

Letting Taylor take the driver's seat on her laptop, Amy turned toward the bed, picking up the book she had tossed there after Taylor had entered her suite. At first, she hadn't wanted to be caught with the thing, especially in the off chance that her friend recognized it, and had thrown it aside to get rid of it. Now that she was confronted with the fact that both Bailey _and_ Taylor were pushing the idea of ghosts attacking students on campus, Amy couldn't help but wonder what was left inside the small journal that she had yet to read. She had only gotten a third of the way through and hadn't seen much of anything that would explain what was behind Bailey's sudden jump straight to spirits, but it was possible that some sort of reasoning was hidden deeper inside the handwritten novel. Deciding to give it a shot, Amy picked up the thing and settled down to resume reading, stopping every now and again when Taylor took her eyes off the monitor to glance at her friend. Making sure the cover of the book was hidden between her folded knees, Amy continued on until she reached half-way through, still coming up short in understanding Bailey's thought process.

After a long three hours, with the clock striking one in the morning, Amy had fallen asleep under the light of the computer and sound of keys clicking. Waking up at her alarm signaling that she had to get ready for class, Amy saw that Taylor hadn't moved, instead remaining stationed behind the screen with her eyes glued to Google as though waiting for it to open a page on its own that would explain everything. Asking Taylor if she wanted her to grab anything for breakfast before leaving for the dining hall, Amy headed for the shower and then to class, noticing that the bundle of energy drinks Sarah had brought back from the student store had been left on the coffee table in the common area, half of them empty with Taylor's distinct sparkly lip gloss glittering off the rim. Smirking to herself, Amy left her friend to continue searching alone, hoping at least Sarah would remain in the suite with her to keep her company, even if it was just checking to make sure Taylor was doing alright every now and again.

Classes passed in a breeze that morning, with not much getting done aside from a few lectures and a singular pop quiz. As Amy walked through courtyards and buildings, catching a few whispers about the weekly DuPonte party being held that night and its new theme, she could feel the cool, nearly-fall day blow past her, sometimes pushing her hair into her face as she ducked into a windless corridor. For some reason, with the discovery of Taylor's story, Amy suddenly felt at ease, as though something she had been waiting for had suddenly been explained to her. While she couldn't place her finger on why, or why the strange tale had given her a burst of energy the night before, Amy felt relaxed as she passed from class to class, taking notes with care and listening before everyone was dismissed to go their separate ways.

Filing out of the room with the rest of her abnormal psychology class, Amy checked the clock on her cell phone to make sure she had enough time before her drama lesson to head to the library. Oddly, though maybe it was because Bailey had given her the small journal there, Amy felt as if she had to return to the large building for some sort of sign as to how to help Taylor in her search for all things ghostly. Crossing campus, she slid through groups of people, sidestepping those sitting around trees, and pulled open the heavy wooden doors of the brownstone structure to see the tower of books before her. As she stood in the archway, Amy took a moment to look around, noting the mahogany tables punctuated with people and students milling around different sections were sparse. Trying to decide where to start, or where Bailey could have possibly discovered anything about spirits in the sprawling space, Amy headed for the folklore section, finding herself alone in the aisle.

Unfortunately, the longer she found herself staring at the spines of _Bloodrites and Sacrifices_, _Archangels and Demons_, and _Ouija Board: Real or Imagined?_, the more lost she felt. Picking tomes off the shelf at random, Amy piled them in her arms and carried them over to the nearest abandoned table, hoping that the titles on the face and sides were faded enough so that no one close would be able to read what she had taken with her. Looking around before sitting down, Amy flicked open the topmost book, taking in the elaborate text covering every square inch of the paper. In what looked like Old English font, separated by large illustrations depicting what was being discussed, creatures listed in alphabetical order were described on each page, some of them with hardly a paragraph spelling out what they were. Tumbling through it, Amy stared at the strange photographs before reading the words around it, trying to sort through what pieces of information were relevant and what weren't.

_In the days of old, Pagan Gods were amongst the most powerful of them all, earning worship from their followers through sacrifices and tributes. As time progressed, Gods became less powerful as the idea of One True God became more widely believed. Although still alive in folklore, Pagan Gods are kept breathing by the freedom of reverence most people experience today. _

Turning the page and deeming the subject of Gods not part of her research, Amy continued on, stopping every now and again to reread interesting statements made on demons, atomy, and hags—which were, apparently, not just old women—that coincided with what she knew from fiction literature, writing down some facts in a text message to herself to review later. After an hour of searching, and coming up with only a few things that might be helpful to whatever Taylor was looking into, since she was apparently set on finding _something_ due to the fact that she had been glued to the computer all night, Amy sent the message and left the books where they were on the table, gathering her things and heading off to class. Unfortunately, before she could get out the door, her phone rang, echoing throughout the quiet building like a jackhammer as the tune chimed loudly. Glancing at the caller ID, Amy furrowed her brow as she stared at the screen, wondering if something else had happened in the time she'd been out of her dorm.

"Taylor? You alright?" Amy whispered as she left the library.

There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment while Taylor yawned, her voice sounding tired when she finally spoke. "Yeah, fine. I just need to ask you something. Nothing major, just a small question."

Biting her lip, Amy nodded, fully aware that her friend couldn't see it. "Yeah, sure."

"You said, like, forever ago that your dad—your real one, I mean—works for the FBI, right?" Taylor asked, sounding hesitant and worried as she began explaining her inquiry. "I know you don't like talking about it and everything, but I need you to do something for me. I have a lead on an idea but it's missing a piece. I spent all night looking into it."

"Looking into what?" Amy frowned.

"I'll tell you if you do this thing for me, I promise."

Biting her lip, Amy headed across campus, pushing open the door to the drama building and crossing into the stone hallway. As she walked, her footsteps echoed in the empty chamber, her phone cutting in and out due to the thickness of the surrounding corridor. By the time she reached her class, Amy slumped against a wall, wondering what Taylor could want her to do.

Finally deciding to reply, Amy nodded again. "Okay, what is it?"

"I need you to get the police reports from Rachel and Celia's deaths," Taylor answered quickly. "If your dad's FBI, you might be able to call him and get him to clear it for you if they won't just hand it over. I just really need it, Amy."

"I…" Amy began, stopping to let out a deep breath. What could possibly be contained in there that would explain something? If the two girls had fallen or been pushed, there wouldn't be anything in a police report that would spell out who or what had done it, unless the killer had left some kind of distinct markings on the body—which she doubted. Plus, it was highly unlikely that the cops would just hand over a folder containing classified information that had only been sent to, possibly, the life insurance companies dealing with payouts. There was no way any officer was going to give her something they could get fired for, and it was just as likely that Amy was going to call John for help. For all she knew, the man was probably somewhere across the country, his eyes glued on Dean and his brother from a distance as he tracked their every move. On top of that, the guy wasn't actually FBI in the first place, or so she thought. It had just been some kind of cover or something placed in plain sight to get Amy to believe his story. Frowning at the memory of stumbling upon the leather-cased badge in John's motel room, Amy sighed heavily. "I don't know about this."

On the other end of the line, the mood had shifted, almost as though Taylor was glaring at her friend through the phone for not automatically agreeing. Feeling the stare through the receiver, Amy scoffed and waited for Taylor to finally speak, hearing agitation in her voice underneath the sweetness that was obviously meant to butter Amy up.

"Please? It's important, Amy. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't."

Bunching her jaw, Amy nearly groaned. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because I don't have experience in talking to the authorities," Taylor said, a joke coming with her words. "Plus, you're closer to the police station."

"I'll think about it," Amy replied, rolling her head up to look at the stone ceiling while static interrupted the silence that had fallen on the phone.

While it wasn't exactly true, in both regards, that Amy had rapport with speaking to police nor that she was nearest to the precinct, she had a feeling that Taylor _was_ onto something if she was asking Amy for help. The girl, who preferred to spend more time alone than with friends—which was probably why the two of them got along so well—was the fiercely independent type, choosing to do things on her own rather than look for assistance unless she absolutely _needed_ it, just like when it came to using Amy's computer or running the spirit story past her. When Celia had died, Taylor had stayed away until Amy offered to stay with her, not really agreeing and not objecting either.

However, before she could dwell on the subject any more, a few other students began congregating in the halls, causing Amy to want to put the conversation to rest in case someone was listening in. Holding the mouthpiece of her phone closer toward her lips, Amy whispered into the speaker, hoping she was loud enough to be heard by Taylor but quiet enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

"Listen, I'll call you back after class, alright? If you still want me to go to the police station, I'll go—"

"I'll still want you to go," Taylor interrupted.

"We'll see," Amy smirked. "Anyway, I'll call you later."

Hanging up after they both said their goodbyes, Amy shoved the small silver mobile into a backpack pocket, making sure it was secure to keep it from falling out. A second later, while the students milling around her separated to head to different classrooms, Amy sighed and headed inside her own, intent on spending the next hour mentally discussing how to get out of heading down to the police station to ask for information she doubted she would get.


	12. Chapter 11

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ELEVEN

New Haven Police Department  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 13, 2006  
3:13 PM

**T**here was a long line outside of the New Haven Police Department, spotted with both civilians and news reporters trying to get information for follow-up stories pertaining to what had happened on the Yale University campus. From where she stood in the middle of the queue poking out of the glass double doors, Amy could see a pair of receptionists working behind the desk, handling both calls and people at the same time, seeming to have a hard time juggling the two separate tasks. On opposite ends of the expansive workspace that spanned the front half of the lobby, blocking any way further inside, stood a couple of police officers, standing with their chests puffed out and shoulders rolled back as if to tell everyone standing in front of them that no one would be getting past them unless authorized.

As she stood between two men, journalists, talking around her as though she were nothing but a glass partition dividing them, she listened as they compared notes from rival publications, both seemingly running the same story with the same angle. Apparently the slant of the week was that suicide was out and homicide was in, with the two men coming down with the other five nearby newspapers, and one national one, to interview separate investigators, hoping to dig up dirt on what had happened to explain their newfound discovery. Listening to them, Amy tried to sort through what they were saying, finally tuning them out when she realized that neither of the reporters beside her had really grasped the situation. According to them, "the Richardson girl and that other one" had made a pact to jump one week after another, trying to make it look like a suicide to make a statement—though what that statement was, they were still unsure, or trying to uncover.

By the time it was finally her turn to talk to one of the receptionists, Amy's anger at the obvious smear/sensation campaign had faded into nerves, catching up with her as she attempted to look at the brunette woman before her in the eye and ask for what Taylor had told her to inquire about. Claiming to be interested in it for research on a book, a lie she had conducted while waiting in line, Amy stammered her request, eventually getting her nothing but a point toward the door and a mutter about reporters changing their story to get past the velvet ropes. Walking away dejectedly, Amy was about to leave and return to her dorm when someone behind the officers on either side of the desk called her name. Whipping around, she saw Bailey standing with an older man, looking ecstatic over something unsaid. Nodding past the guards blocking her path, Amy snaked around the labyrinth of workstations creating a maze on the floor, stopping next to her friend after nearly kicking a displaced chair.

"I knew y'all would come around to my side of things," Bailey grinned by the time Amy joined her, looking even more excited while Amy simply bit her lip in confusion over who was standing in front of them. Seeming to notice Amy's puzzlement, Bailey pointed toward the guy before them, a wizened officer whose clothes hung off his bony frame, introducing him. "Amy Winchester, this is former Police Chief Morrison. He was called in as a consultant or somethin' on how to handle cases like these ones here."

Frowning, Amy's eyes switched between her friend and Police Chief Morrison, wondering what kind of reference the guy could provide and what Bailey meant by "cases like these". Asking as much, Amy tried to keep her words kind, attempting to make it seem as though she was merely interested for something innocent rather than trying to help her friends investigate a theory on ghosts haunting the nearby school. As she spoke, Amy noticed that Morrison appeared engrossed in her question, leaning forward to listen more intently until she was finished.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I don't get why everyone's so interested and how you can help," Amy closed. "At first, I thought it was just my friends going crazy, but now that I see everyone here, it looks like more of a phenomenon than I thought."

Nodding when she fell silent, Morrison reached up to touch his bald head, scratching his knobby finger against his scalp in thought. After a long moment, pausing a minute to stare off at the crowd lessening at the door while the receptionists and officers shooed them away, he turned to look at the girls in front of him, not saying anything but beckoning the two to follow his lead down a hallway taking them away from the lobby. As the girls lagged behind, Amy chewed her lip in wonder, curious as to what could be happening that would require them to be directed away from the dispersing queue. Coming to a halt outside of an office door, Morrison pushed it open to allow Bailey and Amy in first, sealing them off from the rest of the police station after all three were inside the room.

"There are a lot of conspiracy theorists in town," Morrison said after a pause, taking a seat at the empty desk inside the sparse office. His voice was crackly and quiet, reminding Amy of a man similar that she had met in a diner stationed in Brewer, Maine; a man who only seemed to come in once a day to catch up on the news and slowly poke at his normal meal of pie and coffee. Thinking back on him, Amy realized that there wasn't much difference between the restaurant patron and the former police chief standing in front of her, except for the fact that this man seemed a few years younger than the octogenarian who had visited Amy every day she had been at work. "They're all trying to pin some kind of crazy story on this place, claiming that there's a connection between those girls and a ritual suicide that had happened at Yale back in 1906."

Frowning, Amy furrowed her brow in confusion. "Those were suicides?"

"I told y'all that," Bailey muttered.

"No, you didn't," Amy scowled, suddenly interested in the tale—though she probably might have learned about it if she had kept with the diary she had been reading back in her dorm room. Realizing that it was possible she could have skipped a step to the police station, though Taylor probably still wanted those police reports, Amy made a mental note to finish reading it later, hoping that it became more interesting as it progressed. Tuning back into the conversation, Amy bunched her jaw and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk Morrison was sitting behind, his frail body leaning up against the tabletop with his arms crossed in front of him as though cold. "How do you know they were suicides?"

"There was a note," Morrison answered with a nod. "I wasn't alive at the time, but my grandpop was sheriff back then, told me stories about it when I got older. According to what he said, the kids were part of some brigade and made a pact as a protest to some sort of law the school was implementing."

"Some statement," Amy scoffed, biting her lip.

Nodding again, Morrison continued. "One after another began to jump from the windows, one a week until the four members of the group were gone. After the second one died, the police uncovered the written oath they had drawn up, trying to jail the two remaining to keep them from following through. Unfortunately, since laws were jumbled and their parents had money, neither kid could be kept there for long. A couple of weeks later and both of them were gone, whatever the motion had been protested disappearing with it."

"That was all there was to it?" Bailey asked, frowning. "I read in a journal from that time that it'd been more'n than that, a pact between 'em that said they were fixin' to return from the dead to make sure the law wasn't reinstated."

Gazing over at Bailey, Amy raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what possible school rule could have recently risen that anyone would be against. As far as she knew, student counsel hadn't been established yet, and the student senate hadn't passed anything that would turn heads. However, that didn't mean nothing was happening, especially since she had been so wrapped up in other things that she had forgotten to read the _Yale Daily eNews_ for the past couple of weeks.

"Impossible," Morrison said slowly, grimacing a little as he rose from his chair. "It's impossible that those men could have returned, more or less survived the fall they had endured. If anything is happening to the Elis now, it's not because of a pact that had been drawn up a century ago, Miss Yost."

Smirking at the use of the word "Elis", especially since she knew that was the old word for students at Yale, named after the founder, Amy let the grin fade as she tapped her finger against her knee, glad at least someone was seeing straight in this mess. Unfortunately, even if she could side with Morrison and his rebuttal of a similarity, there was still the lack of explanation when it came to Taylor's invisible attacker and the fact that her disbelieving friend had now managed to glue herself to Amy's laptop, not moving as she searched endlessly for information on spirits. While Amy was still fenced on the idea of whether or not to buy into the fact that there were ghosts on campus, she felt she was the only one leaning back over toward the sane side—though apparently not, with Morrison's previous statement showing his resistence to the tale. Ultimately, however, that could be because she had yet to see anything first-hand and had a sinking suspicion that the tack they were talking was the wrong one.

"Miss Winchester," Morrison's voice said quietly behind her, holding a door open to the hallway where Bailey was now standing. Noticing that she was the only one left inside the room, obviously not realizing it while she had become lost in thought, Amy got to her feet and followed the man out, allowing him a moment to lock the door behind him.

Remaining in place while Morrison's shaky hands tried to fit a key into the slot in the knob, Bailey turned to look at Amy, whispering under her breath as she peered around conspiratorially. "What'd you come here for? What are y'all working on?"

Pursing her lips, Amy chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second before answering, wondering if the old man could hear them from where he stood beside the door. Taking a step away, Amy placed a hand on Bailey's elbow, biting back a weird sensation that felt like a snake sliding through her gut. "Taylor sent me here to pick up a file on what happened—a couple of them, actually. I think she's siding with you on this."

"About time," Bailey grinned. "What'd she want?"

"The, uh," Amy paused to glance around, lowering her voice even more. "The police reports on Rachel and Celia's deaths. Apparently there's something in there that explains a missing piece of a puzzle or something."

Smiling wider, Bailey reached into the book bag stationed around her shoulders, pulling back the top flap to reveal two manila folders with tabs identifying them as exactly what Amy had come for. Dropping the strip of cloth down as Morrison finally managed to twist the key in the lock, Bailey and Amy straightened up to follow him back toward the lobby of the station, Amy staring at her friend's short blonde hair as they walked one in front of the other. Why was Bailey always one step ahead of her?

Shrugging it off as the two were shown through the labyrinth of desks, Amy lead the way out of the precinct and into the fading day. While the sun was still bright overhead, the illumination of its rays seemed less intense, shining down on shadows of buildings that stretched onto the sidewalk around them. As the two headed for a street corner close enough into town that allowed them to hail a taxi, Amy looked inside her own bag, searching for enough money to pay the fare whenever they reached a busy intersection. While they walked, both girls remained silent, with Amy rooting around in her belongings to make her look busy as Bailey stared straight ahead.

Something about her friend was beginning to unsettle Amy, from the way the girl always seemed to be ahead of the curve to the weird feeling she got every time the two touched in some way. It was like something was twisting in her stomach, churning her insides in an attempt to make her nauseated. She had felt that way before, back in Brewer and with Mr. Garrison, the old man who came into the diner every day. There had been a time, though only once, when she had approached him to be overcome with the same sensation, afraid that she was going to become sick before it disappeared on its own and leaving her with the feeling that it had never happened. However, she hadn't dwelt on it then, thinking it something she ate rather than anything else, nor when she had experienced it a second time in the dining hall the day after Celia had died—at that time, she had written it off as her _lack_ of food causing her intestines to squirm. Ultimately, today she was unable to explain it away like she had the other two times, especially since she had eaten an hour before heading down to the precinct and wasn't feeling any ill effects or hungry.

Pausing her thoughts as they reached a two major cross streets, Amy waited for Bailey to throw out her arm to signal a cab, watching her closely as she did. The girl didn't look any different than she had when they first met, and Amy hadn't felt anything strange then, so why was she suddenly under the impression that whatever was going on with her stomach was something attributed to Bailey? Yeah, they hadn't known each other long, just from the time the girl had moved in next door in the middle of August until now, but Amy had grown to like her new neighbor, even considering her a friend. The girl had a good sense of humor, seemed to enjoy spending time in Amy's suite, and aside from the ghost incident, seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. There was no reason for her to place the blame on Bailey, especially since she had no basis or foundation for doing so.

Letting out a deep breath as a taxi pulled up beside them, Amy kicked her suspicions away, climbing in the back with her friend and telling the driver where to go. As she relaxed in the seat, Amy was quickly reminded of the various times during the summer she had spent being driven around inside a cab, whether to work at a diner or to track down the brothers she had been asked to watch. In all that time, she had never considered she would be using one to get around New Haven, more or less to investigate something weird, especially since that was what John Winchester seemed to be doing with the odd news clippings he had placed on the wall of nearly every motel they had stayed at—if he was there long enough to do so, that is. Wondering if maybe there was something to that, maybe some correlation between John picking her up in May and her accidentally stumbling into something bizarre on her own at Yale, Amy frowned, hoping that wasn't the case. In all honesty, all she wanted was for Taylor to find out that both she and Bailey had been wrong, that the police reports in the latter's bag pointed to no foul, ghostly play, so that they could move on with their lives instead of trying to find something in nothing.

Slouching farther back into the seat while the taxi fell into rush hour traffic in Church Street's one south-bound lane as opposed to the three lanes heading north, Amy stared out the window, listening to the music the driver was playing and quickly realizing that she was right back where she started while the tinny sounds of Led Zeppelin carried throughout the cab.

_"Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear. How years ago, in days of old, when magic filled the air."_


	13. Chapter 12

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWELVE

Swing Dorms, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 13, 2006  
5:47 PM

**A**my pushed her mass of chestnut hair out of her face as thick tresses fell into her eyes, blocking her view of the book held in her lap, resting against her ankles as she sat with her legs crossed on the bed. She had been sitting that way for the past half an hour, soaking in the rest of the diary her friend had given her at the library while Taylor and Bailey remained nearby, pouring over the police reports for anything weird.

In the hour that they had been back from the station, the three had been situated behind the computer before separating after a short while. Prior to parting, they had gone over webpages Taylor had pulled up and bookmarked, each pertaining to either the suicides that had happened in 1906 or information on ghosts. According to a few of the sites, spirits were likely to return on anniversaries of something major, sometimes showing up to get revenge on someone or something long after they had died. However, also according to what was written online, suicides were one of the only things that barred anyone from returning from the dead, meaning that either what went on in 1906 was far from suicide or they were dealing with something else, something they had no knowledge of.

Which was what had sparked Amy into putting herself in the corner of the room, resting her back against the wall as she poured over the remainder of the journal, trying to find a clue as to what had actually happened with the four men and their pact. As she read, hardly able to see in the dim light provided overhead and what little was coming from the computer screen, Amy wasn't finding much of anything, just more of the same gossip over students and whining about girls who had stolen the author's numerous boyfriends—apparently, she had a hard time holding onto them. Unfortunately, no matter how repetitive the complaints were, Amy found it difficult to tear herself away from the book, hoping that something interesting would appear as she turned the page, only to be disappointed once she realized there was nothing. Ultimately, though, she pushed on.

Across the room, which happened to be only a few feet from her, Bailey and Taylor were absorbed in the write-up on Rachel and Celia's deaths, with Taylor keeping a pen poised over a legal pad to scribble down anything that might be considered odd or coincidental. As they both read through different file folders, switching off when they had finished before repeating themselves, Amy noticed that Taylor now appeared more invested in the situation than Bailey. Flipping from document to document, Taylor read each page line for line before moving on, whereas Bailey would simply scan it and put it aside. It was as though the latter was looking for key words, whereas the former was attempting to learn everything she could on the subject.

Watching them, Amy could see that Bailey now looked uninterested in what they were doing, as if the idea of ghosts and spirits haunting the Yale campus had lost its vigor. As she thumbed through the documents again, waiting for Taylor to finish up with hers to exchange it with the ones in Bailey's hands, it was obvious that the girl seemed almost bored with what was happening, tapping her fingers impatiently as though she hadn't anticipated the research portion to take as long as it was. Smirking at her friend, Amy turned her attention back down to the book in her lap, wondering what Bailey had expected—especially since she was the one who had brought the whole thing up in the first place.

_Wednesday, May 9, 1906_

_ The end of the term is upon us and spring is in full bloom. On campus, word of the third member of The Pact planning to make his statement is buzzing, with students attempting at all lengths to plead him down from the metaphorical ledge. _

_ According to friends, the boy planning to die tonight is Jack Richardé, a senior who has left nothing to the imagination when it came to his opposition of Yale's planned evacuation of the female students next year. While I cannot say that I am not with him on the subject, one must wonder why such great lengths are being achieved to make a statement. Surely the idea is not as scandalous as four planned suicides. _

_ However, the death of the first two has stirred up controversy enough to call an appeal to the rule, particularly since the revocation of female students' enrollment has been deemed unconstitutional thus far. In the papers, a Connecticut senator is quoted as saying that such a declaration is turning heads, sending the message that some men are willing to die for women's rights, although with only two to go to the grave so far, the point has yet to be driven home with the powers that be. _

Frowning at the page, Amy stared at it a moment before flipping back a few more, wondering if she had missed something. So far, she had read about squabbles amongst friends, cheating mates, and boring class notes, but nothing that had to do with the two previous jumpers. It was as though the girl writing the journal had somehow forgotten to mention the first men who had died, skipping right to the third. Unfortunately, as she continued going back further in the entries, scanning each in case she had missed a page or more, Amy finally stopped near the middle, discovering why she hadn't seen anything about the suicides before. In the margins were the remnants of torn pages, barely visible between the ones flocking it. When she had been reading before, she had just assumed the missing days between the twenty-fourth and sixth of April and so on had been because the girl had just forgotten to write the absent accounts. Now that she saw the jagged edges of a ripped page, she realized that she shouldn't have been so thoughtless. So far, the author had written every day for the past six months, never skipping a moment, no matter how dull. To assume that she had simply forgotten had been somewhat dumb on Amy's part.

Sighing quietly, Amy returned to the spot she had left off in the diary, skimming the pages that followed the third death to skip over the boring details of a story involving two girls arguing in the library in order to find out more information on the guy that had jumped. As she headed into the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday that came after the suicide, only small tidbits pertaining to it were mentioned, such as the fact that he had done so, leaving behind a note that said nothing but "Farewell, fair maidens". Continuing on, Amy read through until she found the Wednesday proceeding Jack Richardé's death, stopping as she came to another paragraph detailing what was due to happen, finding it intriguing that the author didn't seem the slightest bit interested in stopping it from happening.

_Wednesday, May 16, 1906_

_ I ran into Dean Witter today, asking what he was planning to do for the fourth jump that was scheduled for tonight. He seemed indifferent to discussing it, claiming it a matter of university business rather than one that should be of concern to the students. As much as I wish that were true, it appears as though the talk on campus is only of the final fatality, with classes becoming overrun with discussion._

_ In the entirety of school today, I learned nothing much of lessons but more of what was to happen this evening. According to word, the fourth Pact member is rumored to be Stephen McClaine, the one who had drawn up the contract in the first place. From what I've heard, this jump is due to be more theatrical than the others, with the location of the event becoming disclosed around campus to attract witnesses and supporters. However, I feel as though whoever were to attend would be those of the utmost morbidly curious._

Furrowing her brow, Amy looked up as the entry finished, glancing across the room to see Bailey now standing near the sealed-shut window, her eyes gazing down at the concrete below. At the computer, Taylor was still jotting down notes, this time with both of the police reports propped up before her, one blocking out the monitor and the light it provided. As she scribbled down comments, pausing every few minutes to clamp the pencil between her teeth and turn back pages, Amy noticed that her friend hadn't appeared to have moved all day, still wearing the same clothes as the night before and with greasy hair dripping toward the desk in front of her. Wondering if maybe the reason Bailey was becoming uninterested in the case was because of the fact that Taylor seemed consumed by it, Amy placed the journal in her hands to the side, slipping off the corner of her bed to head for her friend in an attempt to relieve Taylor of her duty.

Nearing Taylor's station, Amy glanced down at the shadowed notes on the tabletop in front of her, noticing that they were as frantic as some of the ones that had been tacked to the wall of the motel rooms Amy had shared with John during the summer. On the page staring up at her, Amy could see that Taylor had drawn a diagram with arrows pointing to different events covering the yellow paper and becoming connected with different sized lines. In the center was a box marked "Yale" with names being referenced in separate squares, some of them Amy recognized from the diary she had just been reading. As she stood over Taylor's shoulder, the girl flipped back a few more pages, scribbling down additional notes as she glanced between the police report and the legal pad in front of her, not seeming to notice that Amy was right behind her.

Gazing at the papers, Amy narrowed her eyes to read in the dark, opening them wider again as Taylor unblocked the light coming from the computer screen. On the topmost sheet, there was a T-diagram on the page, with differences and similarities being listed in separate columns, one side longer than the other. Reading the stretching "similarities" column, Amy noticed that Taylor had needed those files for more than just missing pieces, apparently they spelled out a lot more than just a hole in a puzzle. According to what Taylor, and accordingly the police, had observed, both Rachel and Celia had fallen at the same time, landed in the same place, and had been found with the same kind of yellow powder on them—though what the powder was was unknown since the writing listing it had been scribbled. Also according to what was written in the lengthy column, the cops couldn't tell whether or not the girls had been pushed or fallen on their own, with no signs of foul play evident in a medical examination. What the police apparently _had_ seen, though, was the fact that both girls hadn't left a note behind like their predecessors a century before.

Bunching her jaw, Amy looked away from Taylor's work to stare at the computer screen, noticing that the tabs on the Firefox browser were titled an array of subjects, spanning from simple ghost theories to Biblical stories. Wondering if there was something she had missed when it came to spirits in the Good Book, especially since she hadn't read it in a long time, Amy opened her mouth to ask why Taylor was looking into Mal'ak, which she knew to be the Arabic word for Angels thanks to a book she had read over the summer, and Asgini, whatever that was, Amy pressed her hand on her friend's shoulder just as Bailey turned back toward them, cutting Amy off before she could say anything.

"Are y'all going to be here for much longer?"

Frowning, Amy raised an eyebrow at the girl, wondering why she was asking. Seeming to catch onto the silent question, Bailey grinned.

"It's just, if y'all are going to be here all night, I want to go back to my dorm and get my books. I have a test tomorrow that I need to study for, and I don't wanna abandon y'all guys just for my own selfish reasons."

Smirking, Amy nodded as Bailey crossed the room. "We'll be here awhile."

Bowing her head gratefully, Bailey disappeared a moment later, leaving Amy and Taylor alone in the room. Taking a seat beside her friend, Amy leaned forward on the desk, pawing through Taylor's notes to try to read through them all. Unfortunately, before she could get more than a page in, the door to the common area slammed shut, causing Amy to jump and spin around as keys were placed on the coffee table with a loud jangle. Finding Sarah stripping off her sweater as she headed into her own bedroom, Amy turned back to the legal pad in front of her, noticing that Taylor had made a note in the middle of the lines of scrawl that had been bolded, with a box drawn around it as though to emphasize it.

"Sulfur?" Amy read out loud, chewing the inside of her cheek.

"Yeah," Taylor muttered absently, not taking her eyes off the screen. "The M.E. found it on both Rachel and Celia."

"Jeez. You sound so official," Amy commented flatly. "Why's that weird, though? Celia took chemistry. That was bound to be somewhere on her. They use that stuff all the time."

"Yeah, except Celia hadn't been to that class in two days."

Swallowing hard, Amy pursed her lips, pausing a minute to consider the words that were about to come out of her mouth, not believing she was about to add her own two cents into a conversation she didn't want to have. "According to Bailey, sulfur has something to do with spirits."

Looking surprised, Taylor glanced up from the computer for a minute. "Did she really?" Suddenly, a smirk erupted through Taylor's focused frown, followed by a mocking chuckle that sounded almost irritated. "Right."

Confused, Amy bit her lip, curious as to what her friend meant, but not wanting to ask. Instead, she continued through the notes, falling back on the diagram listing names Amy recognized from the diary: Jack Richardé and Stephen McClaine. The two men topped the chart, with lines pointing both to Yale, with a stronger one leading Rachel at the bottom. From there, a dotted arrow connected Rachel and Celia, then to an empty box containing nothing but a question mark that had also been drawn from Stephen McClaine.

Wondering if Taylor had some kind of system she couldn't figure out, Amy pointed to the graph in front of her, finally grabbing her friend's attention. "What's this all mean?"

Sighing loudly, as though exasperated at having to explain something, Taylor slid her chair closer to the desk, sitting up straighter as she pushed her unwashed hair behind her ears. Pointing to various spots on her diagram, she began to clarify everything that was drawn out, starting from the top down. Apparently, somehow, everyone whose name was listed had all been intertwined, with the strong lines pointing to relatives and the dotted lines pointing to friendships. Tracing the solid arrow down from Jack Richardé to Rachel Richardson, Taylor let her finger muddle the graphite etched in the page, rubbing it further into the paper as she spoke quietly, probably hoping to keep Sarah from hearing them in her bedroom.

"While I was searching online, I found out that Richardé is the French equivalent to Richardson, meaning that it was possible Rachel and this Jack guy were related somehow," Taylor said, moving onto the dotted lines between Rachel and Celia then from Celia to the empty square. "But then that's where my theory stops. While it's likely, since the spirit doing the attacking or whatever has to have some sort of attachment to the victims, that Rachel and this guy are distant cousins or what have you, I can't draw a line between Celia and anyone else. Of course, I can't find any information on the two other men that jumped, either—except for the first one's name, but Google comes up blank."

Frowning, Amy bit her lip, thinking back on the ripped-out pages. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," Taylor emphasized. "The archives for the _Yale Daily News _only go back so far, and when I called Justin—you know, the editor from last year—I found out that everything in the first half of the twentieth century had been taken to be converted into micro-whatever during the summer, meaning that finding anything on them is one step farther than impossible. I tried to do some digging, but got nothing."

Tapping her fingers against the desk in thought, Amy slumped her shoulders, her mind unable to get off the subject of sulfur. For some reason, the fact that some foreign chemical had been found on both Rachel and Celia stuck her as odd, as though someone had left that behind as a clue, as well as Taylor's sarcastic reaction to Bailey's statement. If this was a murder being made to look like a suicide, then why leave behind any evidence. Men that used guns made sure to get rid of any indication they were there, including wiping prints and removing dusty weapon discharge—though if a ghost was going around killing people, she doubted they would care about police investigators poking their nose around. However, with everything she had read, counting books in the past of the fiction variety and those she had thumbed through in the library, as well as Taylor giving her a brief introduction to all things weird during the night after her attack, she had yet to hear anything about sulfur aside from what Bailey had claimed and its link to spirits, which was strange in itself. Apparently, though, she wasn't the only one who found the powder to be slightly puzzling, since Taylor had drawn a big square around the word even before Amy had brought it up.

Suddenly, getting up from her chair with enough force to knock it over, Taylor got to her feet, not bothering to pick up the fallen piece of furniture. Standing as well, Amy glanced down at her friend, curious as to what was happening. Swallowing hard, Amy watched as Taylor frowned deeply, letting her posture collapse.

"We have to go back to my old dorm," Taylor said, more to herself than to anyone else. "It might have been too long to see anything, but it's still worth a shot."

"What's worth a shot?" Amy asked, confused.

Reaching for the monitor, Taylor pushed the power button before crossing the room, heading out the door and waiting to answer Amy's question until she was sure Sarah was out of earshot. "Figuring out what this thing is."


	14. Chapter 13

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THIRTEEN

Connecticut Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 13, 2006  
9:18 PM

**T**he door to suite three of Taylor and Celia's former room on the topmost floor of Connecticut Hall squeaked open, sounding too much like a haunted house for Amy's liking and causing a shiver to run down her spine. As she and Taylor stood at the landing, listening to the whining hinges as the slab of wood in front of them drifted open, Amy stared back down the darkened hallway, noticing that the corridor outside seemed just as empty as the rest of school had been on the girls' trip across campus. Security had been absent, as had any milling students, all of them seemingly at the DuPonte party, the sound of which echoing from its location a few blocks away with deep drums and heavy basses.

However, the walk over had been calming rather than eerie. As Amy and Taylor made their way through the cobblestone paths dividing the sprawling green grass, Taylor had explained her reasoning for wanting to check out her old suite, something that had made Amy nervous before listening to Taylor's plans. At first, she had been under the impression that Taylor was morbidly curious, about to try to figure out whether or not the distance in which Celia's body had landed had been further because she had been pushed or shorter because she had simply fallen. Fortunately, it didn't seem as if that was the case—though Taylor had admitted she had originally thought of looking into that before Amy and Bailey had arrived with the police reports listing everything she needed to know. Instead, Taylor wanted to search for more of that yellow dust that had been left behind, sulfur, noting it as a clue to figuring out if they were dealing with some kind of spirit or something else. While Amy knew that shouldn't have eased her anxiety, it somehow did, causing her to relax as they trekked past buildings, giving her the sense that they were about to be on the right path to figuring out what was going on.

Silence had fallen for the rest of their walk, with Amy not bothering to ask what the appearance of sulfur might mean, aside from Bailey's given reason, in case it would be something more frightening than the idea of ghosts haunting the campus. As they matched each other's pace, walking quickly to avoid being caught by anyone trolling the grounds, if there was anyone left to do so, and to get to their destination faster, Amy let her mind wander. For some reason, Taylor seemed in a hurry to get to Connecticut Hall, as though the speedier she was, the more evidence would be there despite the fact that a week had passed and it was possible anything she was looking for had been blown away by the wind coming through the broken window Bailey had originally found the powder at. Keeping time with her, Amy shot glances back the closer they got to Old Campus, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Though it was possible it was just her fear of being caught by the Rent-A-Cops who took their jobs too seriously, Amy couldn't help but shake the sense that it was something more than just a couple of overweight men asserting what little authority they had on the students prowling around after the newfound curfew that had been instilled after what had happened the two previous Wednesdays.

By the time Amy had reached Connecticut Hall with Taylor, slipping in through the doors and shutting them quietly behind her, she couldn't help but be reminded of the time she and Bailey had made the same trek, accidentally running into Taylor as they had tried to break into her room. However, that time was different than this time. This time, Amy was coming around to the idea of something haunting Yale, whereas her first attempt at investigating with a friend had left her feeling even more disbelieving than before. At the time, no matter how much Amy had wanted to have faith in the suggestion of something supernatural stalking around the school, she couldn't let herself fall into the idea. For as many books as she had read on the subject, she hadn't thought any of them to be real, just finding entertainment in how people constructed the myths of whatever creature was being discussed and the origins that had launched what was being scrawled on the pages. Even now she was having a hard time grasping the fact that they were investigating an actual ghost story, still having to convince herself that there was enough evidence to prove that she wasn't in the middle of some tall tale made up by a friend to insanely explain what had happened to the girls who had taken the swan dive.

Thankfully, though, Amy had a feeling they were almost at the end of their rope when it came to whatever they were doing. It was possible that soon they would be past the idea of looking into deaths to get back to school and normalcy, with no intention of returning to this bizarre series of events any time soon, no matter what happens in the future. While she wasn't about to say that aloud to either of her friends, especially since both Taylor and Bailey seemed into playing Scully and Mulder, she was sure that once the two had gone back to their respective dorms for the night, Amy would be able to mull a few things on the subject over with Sarah, despite the fact that the pair still weren't fully back on speaking terms, before things changed for the better in the morning. Even though they had mended the fence between them when it came to Amy leaving Sarah to hang out in Taylor's suite all night, Amy wasn't sure Sarah would listen to her should she raise a legitimate complaint about her crazy friends and their ghost adventures. That was, of course, if her roommate was even there and not off at the DuPonte shindig by the time Amy returned.

Pushing the thought away as soon as they had reached the door to the room sitting at the end of the fifth-floor hallway, after climbing the stairs due to the elevator being broken, Amy had waited for Taylor to produce a key and unlock their way inside. The whine of the hinges had been loud enough to break through the quiet of the hallway, but there wasn't any sign of anyone inside the other suites stirring to complain about a sudden noise. Instead, the two stood under the archway, peering into the nearly-empty common area and feeling the draft from the broken window that had yet to be repaired. As they remained in place, both of them peering down at the the yellow crime scene tape that lay on the floor, Amy glanced at Taylor before taking a look around the room.

From where she stood, everything in front of her looked and felt like the décor to the Haunted Mansion, with furniture remaining untouched and abandoned, along with a very thin layer of dust shining up in the moonlight coming from the windows. Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Amy could pick up the faint scent of something foul, as though eggs had been left to rot in the refrigerator and the odor was beginning to leak out of the casing. Scrunching her nose, she continued to look around, noticing only two more things about the room that seemed odd. First off was the fact that the door to the suitemates Amy had never met's side of the dorm was shut, which she had thought was wide open the last time she had been there, whereas the second being a line of footsteps disturbing the slight cover of grime on the dark hardwood floor. Turning her head to look at it, Amy saw that the prints lead to the closed door, too large to belong to a female and much farther apart, as though in a powerful stride.

Noticing that Taylor was staring at it as well, Amy cleared her throat. "Weird, right?"

"Definitely," Taylor nodded solemnly, stepping over the yellow tape at their feet. "You want to check that out or should I?"

Bunching her jaw, Amy glanced between the open door and the shut one. "I will."

Not giving her any sort of response, Taylor broke away from Amy, heading into her former bedroom and disappearing while Amy tried to replicate the steps taken toward the shut door. Taking long strides, she realized that they weren't as far apart as she originally thought, though that could be because she was as tall as most guys on campus. The footprints in the ground showed wide, heavy boots making careful steps, the size of the shoes indicating someone upward of Amy's five-foot-ten frame.

Reaching the door, Amy twisted the knob, pushing it open as it swung easily forward. Peering inside, she saw nothing but empty beds and a box left on top of the desk nearest the closet, the lid of it closed and taped shut. Heading for it, Amy looked around for something to slice open the cardboard, only finding a pen sitting alone on the floor. Picking it up, she hacked at the top of the box, using all of her strength to rip it apart. By the time she reached the edge of the side, the flaps had come loose, bouncing open with the force in which Amy stabbed at the tape with the pen. Setting the ballpoint aside, she pushed back the top, seeing only a jewelry box and a bag of hair scrunchies packed at the bottom. Sighing loudly, she gave the area one more visual sweep before joining Taylor in the next room over.

In her old bedroom, Taylor stood nearest the window, her hands glossing over the sill as though expecting to find something there. Absently, she stared out at the moonlit night, running her fingers over the glazed mahogany that made up the bottom half of the four walls surrounding the two of them. Stepping through the threshold, Amy crossed over to her friend, hoping that Taylor was alright in case she had stopped to break down emotionally or freeze up entirely. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Amy tried to transfer comfort over to the girl, finding that Taylor hardly noticed her presence like when she had been staring intently at the computer screen earlier. Seeing that Taylor had the same thoughtful expression on her face, Amy chewed the inside of her lip for a second, letting the girl think in silence as she removed her grasp. After a long moment, Taylor jerked out of her own world, brushing her hands against her jeans as she turned away from the window.

"What happened?" Amy asked, confused.

"It's just, uh…" Taylor said, trailing off as voices from down below began to cut through her sentence, screams erupting from a crowd that passed through the courtyard outside of Connecticut Hall and heading beyond their line of vision.

Swallowing hard, Amy recognized the sounds of commotion as the ones associated with the night she and Sarah had attended the DuPonte party, the gathering becoming quickly broken up when word of Celia's death had reached the house and caused a frenzy. Gasping, Amy glanced out the window, noticing that everyone was running through the archway that lead to the rest of the school, some walking behind as they struggled to keep up in heels. Looking at Taylor, a sudden realization dawned on both of them as they came to the conclusion that something was wrong, especially since they were filing away from Old Campus, where the two previous murders had taken place, and heading further toward the southwest corner of the sprawling school.

"Oh, God," Amy breathed, taking off after Taylor as her friend bolted out of the dorm and toward the stairs at the end of the hallway.

As they pushed open the heavy door leading out into the quad, Taylor and Amy stalled as they watched the tail end of the crowd pass, blending in at the last moment as they tried to catch wind of what had happened. Only picking up a few words and phrases such as "swing", "poor girl", and "again", the two grabbed onto each other as they were pushed through the narrow stone arch leading toward the newer buildings, breaking into a run as they sprinted to the head of the line and beyond. Beating everyone to where someone lay heaped on the concrete in the courtyard outside of Swing Hall, Amy swallowed hard as she skidded to a stop, recognizing the long blonde hair and limber body as that belonging to her roommate, Sarah.

"Jesus," Amy panted, bile threatening to rise in her throat as she took in the bloody sight before her. "Taylor."

"I know," Taylor said, grabbing Amy's arm and tugging her. "But we have other things to worry about right now. Whoever did this is still up there. We have to catch them before they leave. If not, we won't have another chance until someone else—"

Stopping her as Amy took the lead into the building and up the stairs, Taylor trailed behind, Amy's legs somehow working at twice the speed as the restless energy she had felt earlier began to stir and propel her forward. Beating Taylor to the top, and glancing behind to see that her friend was still on the flight to the third level, Amy didn't pause to wait, instead heading for her room at the end of the corridor. For some reason, whatever doubts and fears she had experienced prior were gone, now replaced with the idea that this was far more personal than the last time. While she and Celia had been good friends, this thing, whatever it was, was in her dorm room and had killed her roommate at point blank.

As soon as she reached the door, Amy didn't bother to pull out a key, rather choosing to twist the knob as hard as she could to break it open, much like she had once before in a diner in Maine. As the metal piece of lock splintered away and hit the floor, bouncing against the hardwood with a light tinkling sound, Amy threw her way inside, stopping at the sight in front of her as the person standing beside a broken window came into clear view from the moonlight above. As Taylor came up beside her, Amy grabbed her friend's hand and pushed her behind Amy's taller figure, hoping to block her as Taylor's jaw fell slack.

Turning away from where she stood staring out at the night sky, Bailey Yost grinned at Amy and Taylor, the smile reaching her blue eyes before the black of the irises bled into the disappearing whites, causing her stare to look dark and unforgiving.

"Howdy, y'all!"


	15. Chapter 14

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FOURTEEN

Swing Dorm, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Wednesday, September 13, 2006  
10:28 PM

**A**my's breath caught in her throat as she stared at Bailey, fear running through her as she stared at her black-eyed friend beside the shattered window, smiling as though everything the dark stare took in was some sort of joke. In the doorway, Amy kept her position in front of Taylor, trying to block her shorter friend from view as Bailey continued to grin, the look chilling her the more she glared at the girl before her.

For some reason, Amy could feel a rush of energy coming with the wave of terror that cascaded over her, almost as though too much adrenaline was fighting to take down the anxiety that was growing the more she stared into those shining pits that seemed to swallow Bailey's small face. As she continued to fix her eyes on the girl, trying to keep down the squirming in her stomach that was threatening to rise the vomit settled in the back of her throat, Amy could sense something kicking in somewhere in her system, as if a dormant skill was summoned beneath the bile that wanted to bend Amy in half and temporarily debilitate her. The sensation was something strong, much more thrashing than the snake that writhed in her gut, and clearly wanted control. Standing in the doorway, she tried to steel herself as she kept her gaze locked with Bailey's, her focus shifting between the girl and the feeling.

From behind her, Taylor finally appeared, sliding from beneath Amy's protective stance to glance over the arm being thrust out to stop her from moving ahead. As soon as Taylor was fully able to see what Amy was trying to save her from, a gasp escaped her mouth, followed with the mutter of, "Of course!"

Looking backwards for a moment with a furrowed brow before turning her stare back to Bailey, Amy wondered what Taylor could have possibly stumbled upon, what could explain what was going on. It was clear that the black-eyed glower being thrown her way wasn't some sort of trick of the light, the darkness was too deep to be a glint off of Bailey's ocean blue stare, nor was it something that made any sense to Amy. However, Taylor had been researching the supernatural all day, probably stumbling upon a few more things than she shared, and possibly coming across whatever they were gazing at now—because, for some reason, Amy had a feeling the thing near the window wasn't Bailey Yost, not anymore.

Unfortunately, as Taylor was about to open her mouth to explain, she was suddenly silenced as an unseen force ripped across the room, yanking Taylor from where she stood and throwing her into the wall of the corridor behind Amy. Whipping around, Amy hurried to her friend's side, only to see that the girl had been knocked out. Leaving her be, and figuring it was better Taylor stay where she was as opposed to in the same room as the black-eyed creature, Amy placed her limp friend in a more comfortable position before turning to face her dorm room, wondering what the hell was going on.

Reaching the doorway, Amy paused at the threshold, taking a deep breath as she realized Bailey's back was now to her, her eyes fixed on the ground below as she poked her head over the sharp panes of glass jutting out in all directions from the pane that Sarah had obviously been pushed through. As she stood there, Amy could feel all of her emotions shut down, with everything she was supposed to be feeling for her dead roommate lying motionless on the pavement outside becoming non-existent as she watched the creature laugh at the chaos that was undoubtedly happening below. While screams, murmurs, and sirens echoed up through the broken window, Amy kept her gaze on Bailey's short blonde hair, wondering if she was going to be next to go over the edge. The longer she stood there, the more she felt as though every feeling she had was closing shop for the night, leaving her to only focus on what was in front of her. It was a weird sensation, one that seemed to work like a valve being shut off as the remnants of water in the pipe leaked out. As she thought about Sarah and the quick glance she had seen outside before Taylor ripped her away, the less she began to recognize the fear and sadness she should be experiencing over the fact that not only was this the third person to die this month, this was the third person Amy had known. Wondering if there was something to that, she stared straight forward, questions building in her mind—first and foremost, being what the hell is that thing in front of her and why is it here?

Bunching her jaw as the creature turned around, Amy noticed that Bailey's bright blue eyes had returned instead of the black, a joyful gleam glinting off the moonlight overhead as Bailey stared out at the darkened suite before her. As she did so, Amy did the same, noticing that there had clearly been a struggle based on the way the furniture was up-ended, tables were smashed, and books were scattered. All over the floor, pieces of paper littered the hardwood, covering everything with a layer of white that seemed to blend in with the walls. Looking up from where she was taking in everything, Amy noticed that Bailey now had her stare fixed on her, head cocked curiously as though something about the girl in front of her was amusing or confusing.

"Curiouser and curiouser…" Bailey muttered, all traces of her southern accent gone. "What do I spy with my little eye?" Unable to find the courage to answer, Amy glared back at the thing at the window as it began to run its finger over the yellow dust that had accumulated in the sill. As she rolled the granules over her fingers, peering carefully at it as though trying to take in its texture, the thing remained silent, smirking to itself as it stared thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be. Sulfur! What do you make of that, Scooby Doo?"

Furrowing her brow, Amy chewed the inside of her lip, trying to figure out what to say. Ultimately, though, as her emotions continued to shut down and everything inside of her began to focus solely on Bailey, her eyes staying cemented on the creature as though to keep from losing sight of it, Amy could only remain frozen in the doorway, wondering whether the sensation she was feeling was due in part to the thing before her or something internally, causing her to not be able to feel anything as she remained stationary.

Seemingly ignoring Amy's inner conflict, Bailey yammered on, holding up the fingers covered in yellow powder. "You know, I was seriously hoping this would be the straw that broke the camel's back. I mean, I was doing everything I could to lead you to this point, but what did I get? Nothing. I gave you everything you needed to piece together the puzzle, even giving you wrong information that I hoped would help narrow this thing down for you, but nope. It's like I should have stayed behind to hold your hand every step of the way. I mean, I even had to give you the initial push into even _looking_ for ghosts, and that was not an easy thing to plan, trust me."

Remaining silent, Amy stared straight forward, trying to keep up with Bailey's speech and wondering what the thing was talking about. As it continued on, detailing how difficult it was trying to gage just how much information to give and where to place the twists and turns, Amy let her mind wander, remembering the moment Bailey had first brought up the subject of ghosts and spirits haunting the Yale campus. At the time, Amy had automatically debunked the whole thing, only coming around to the idea when Taylor seemed to be on board, but had still only thought of it as some sort of conspiracy theory.

"I mean, when you guys started ignoring me, I thought I had you sold," Bailey said, sitting down on the ledge of the window, "but it wasn't until you showed up at the police station that I was truly convinced. All I thought was that, as soon as you were on the spirit train with me, all I had to do was lead you into further research to find out that this crap doesn't exactly point to ghosts at all." Bailey paused a moment to wipe away the sulfur on her fingers. "I think your friend knew it, though, but I thought she'd blurt it out first thing and that _she _would have to be the one I chucked out the window. But you guys left to go scope out some evidence that I wiped away long ago, meaning that when I came back to see what was going on, I found poor old Sarah here by herself. I mean, what's a girl to do? Empty dorm room, the television's not plugged in… Gotta find entertainment somewhere, right? I just figured, why the hell not? All it ever takes is just one… little… _push_."

At her last words, Bailey mimed throwing Sarah out the window, a smile breaking her thoughtful expression in half as her eyes lit up again. However, no matter how much Amy wanted to be mad or upset as the thing in front of her was explaining what happened and finding joy in it, she couldn't bring herself to be angry, her insides as cold as ice as she kept her stare straight. Over on the ledge, Bailey continued to grin, her gaze equally stuck on Amy from across the room.

"But hey, I'm not the first demon on campus to do this sort of thing. Hell, the whole reason I gave you that journal from 1906 was because I thought you would figure out what had happened back then and jump to conclusions. They say history always repeats itself, don't you know?" Bailey smirked. "Hundred years ago, big-bad Altus rolls into town looking for a few souls to doom and finds an extremely flimsy cause to rope some followers into. First one jumps, everyone notices. Second one jumps, people get scared. Third one jumps, well… that's where things got tricky. By the time Jack Richardé took the swan dive, Hunters from all over started crawling the campus, looking to figure out what was going on. Thankfully, dear old Altus had possessed the student next in line for the jump, leaving the contract he had drawn up behind for the Hunters to find and to get them off his scent. After he smacked down on the ground, he waited awhile before ditching the corpse, eventually getting sent back downstairs to cuddle with his collections by the hellfire. And thus, inspiration was born."

Swallowing hard, Amy cleared her throat awkwardly, feeling the gates to her emotions begin to open as she stood there, taking in Bailey's words. Demon? She had definitely caught the word demon at least twice, but contract and hellfire? What the hell was going on? As she let the tide of feelings begin to cloud her slowly, fear being the predominate sensation that seemed to take over and cause her hands to shake uncontrollably, Amy tried to take a step back, putting distance between her and the… _demon_. She had read about them, mainly in The Bible and in works of fiction, but didn't know much about them except for the fact that they were either the children of Satan or worked for him—or both. However, apparently Bailey had expected Amy to know more, probably wondering why the girl hadn't automatically recognized whatever the presence of sulfur meant.

"It's cute how confused you are," Bailey said suddenly, interrupting Amy from her thoughts. "I spent almost all summer watching you and Daddy Dearest travel the country. I was almost certain he was showing you the ropes. But I guess not."

Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Amy finally spoke. "Following me?"

"You act like this is some brand new piece of information," Bailey grinned, clearly reveling in the fact that she was about to be the first one to break the news about whatever was going on. "God, he _really _kept you in the dark, didn't he?" Smirking and shaking her head, Bailey laughed. "Leave it to John Winchester to keep his kids out of the loop. Well, if you really must know, it goes a little something like this: There's a reason Johnny Boy showed up on your doorstep this summer. We've been watching you for a really long time, Winchester. You and your brothers _and _your father, but Daddy was the only one who turned the tables on us. Why do you think you were put up for adoption?"

Frowning deeply, Amy tried to remember whether or not she had brought up the fact that she was adopted with Bailey, wondering whether or not that fact mattered if the thing in front of her was a demon and it could read minds. Pushing the thought aside, Amy tuned back into the conversation as Bailey started in on the subject.

"Why do you think John never showed up before this year?" Bailey grinned wider. "He was trying to keep us off of your scent, but inadvertently lead us right to you. To be honest with you, we had lost track of you, not that we were looking particularly hard, until you became a blip on our radar screen again back in May. We needed leverage against John, and I guess he knew that, because he appeared right before we could make our move. But once you left, the game was on. Whoever gets their hands on Amy Winchester first wins."

"What do you want with me?" Amy asked, her voice coming out small and quiet, overrun with fear as the emotion swashed through her stomach, taking the place of the squirming that had subsided long ago. "I think you might have the wrong person. I'm not really important. Using me as leverage won't do anything but—"

"Be a waste of time? Yeah, yeah," Bailey rolled her eyes. "We tried using his other kids to get to him, but that only got one of us thrown out a window. Which is… strangely fitting." Taking a minute to smile again, Bailey laughed. "God, there is such sweet poetry in that! Your brothers try to kill one of my kind by throwing them seven stories to their doom, so I kill your friends the same way. Well, five stories, but who's counting? I am like, the Lord Byron of death!"

Taking in a deep breath, Amy felt cold air fill her lungs as anger filled her chest, one of similar rage that reminded her of when she had stormed out of the motel room in Bayview, Maine. "You did _all this _to get to John?"

"All this and more, sweetheart," Bailey winked, finally standing from where she had been propped up against the ledge of the window and angling over to Amy. "You don't know the lengths we've gone to get John Winchester's attention. Hell, to be honest with you, this whole thing isn't even _about _him; it's about Little Sammy, but the guy's poking his nose where it doesn't belong. How'd you like that beating we dished out on ol' Johnny Boy a couple months back? Caught him red handed trying to dig up dirt on my boss. Guess he doesn't like Hunters going through his stuff."

Pausing as Bailey neared her, Amy could feel her head spinning with words and phrases that didn't seem to click in her mind. Hunters, "Little Sammy", demons, and so on ran laps through her brain, circling as Amy tried to make sense of them all. While she could recall what Bailey was talking about when it came to John returning to the motel in Bayview badly beaten but refusing to sit down before starting out on another mission, Amy was having a hard time placing the rest, especially anything that had to do with events she clearly hadn't heard about or been there for—such as the two brothers trying to kill a demon by throwing it out the window.

_Would that even work_? Amy thought as she took in the creature in front of her's much shorter stance, wondering if she could overpower it and toss it out the window to end what was happening on campus once and for all. Unfortunately, she doubted that would work, remembering that the demon had specifically used the word _try _when it came to killing one of her "kind", meaning the act probably hadn't done much but pissed it off.

"You know, I was so convinced that John had been training you during the summer," Bailey began, reaching up to touch Amy's cheek and causing her to flinch as the snake in Amy's stomach began to squirm again. "I thought he had picked you up and showed you the ropes to help you prepare yourself against me. But when I saw you waiting tables and having panic attacks over something as stupid as Sam Winchester showing up in your diner, I figured I might be wrong. In fact, it took me all that time watching you _and _throwing you the bone with the ghost stories to see that he had just left you hanging out to dry."

Backing away from Bailey's odd caress of her face, Amy took a step out into the hall, wondering what the hell the demon was talking about. "Watching me?"

"Oh, come on. Seriously? How did you even get into Yale?" the demon growled, eyes turning black in irritation before returning to blue. "Maybe some coffee and pie will refresh your memory."

All of a sudden, the flash of the old man at the Perko's Café in Brewer, Maine appeared in her mind, along with the recollection that he would come in at the same time every day, never moving from his spot as he watched the news and ate his meal of peach pie and bottomless coffee until he left an hour before Amy's shift was over. With the abrupt memory came the sensation she was feeling now as the writhing faded, the first time she had felt as though something were squirming in her gut happening in that same restaurant with the same man. Was that some kind of human indication for demons? She didn't really know, seeing as she had never met any before, but had a strong sense that the weird feeling at least meant something, especially since she apparently only felt it around such abnormalities.

Biting her lip, Amy tensed her shoulders. "You've been watching me for that long?"

Chuckling, Bailey grinned. "Honey, weren't you paying attention? We've been watching you a lot longer than that. You really think we'd let Daddy's valuable commodity get out from under our thumb? Get a grip. We may have stopped looking for you, but that doesn't mean we gave up on you entirely. You're interesting to us. Granted, not as interesting as Sam, nor as Dean, but still pretty high up there on the food chain."

Swallowing hard, Amy took a small breath, afraid to ask her next question. "Why?"

Smiling wider, Bailey laughed. "Let's just say… we have plans."


	16. Chapter 15

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FIFTEEN

Swing Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, September 14, 2006  
12:08 AM

**A**my stared at Bailey, not really sure how to react or what to say. Plans? What the hell did that mean? Had she been brought into something dangerous just as it was starting or was she in the middle of something that was already in play? And what, if any of this, had to do with her in the first place? All she wanted was to go to school and be a person, not get thrown into a thicket of weird stuff that wasn't her problem.

Anger began to rise again as Amy thought about what the demon had said in regards to John being the blame for this, that if it wasn't for him, she would be nothing but forgotten. Instead, he had dragged her into some gameplan that involved her being used as bait on a hook, leaving a trail of bodies behind on the path to achieving some sort of goal. Again, she began to become irrationally furious toward the man, though this time with enough cause to make her feel as though John Winchester deserved her wrath. If it wasn't for him, three people, that she knew of, would be alive instead of red splatters on cobblestone walkways. It seemed the demon had used her friends to get to her, which in turn would lead it to John.

It was disgusting.

"There's my girl!" Bailey teased with a laugh. "Took you long enough to come around. Just some deaths and an anvil of hints to get you to see the truth."

Feeling the floodgate of emotions open wide, Amy was suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap her hands around something, anything, as agitation, sorrow, and hatred battled for the number one spot. While her jumbled feelings mixed with one another, she could feel something stronger poke through, just like earlier that evening. Again, adrenaline rose, giving Amy the sense that her legs were made of jell-o and hands uncertain of what they were doing as they balled into fists. Almost on autopilot, the sensation surged, causing Amy to watch as she reached for the collar of Bailey's shirt and tossed her heavily into the wall behind the door. As the sheetrock dented, Amy took in the sight of the demon's body falling in a heap on the floor, black eyes staring up at her as the creature growled from the ground.

"God damn it! Do you know how hard it is to find a good body to repossess? Don't go screwing this one up!"

All of a sudden, Amy felt her feet leave the ground as she was thrown across the room, Bailey jumping into a standing position and keeping her hand poised forward while Amy hit the hardwood, skidding to a stop on her back, her clothes dulling the hot friction of the slide. Remaining where she was while the demon neared her, Amy glanced up at Bailey as she towered over her, black eyes pools of irritated ink.

"You're lucky I need you for something, Winchester," Bailey snapped, nodding toward the window. "Or else you'd wind up just like your friend down there."

Grating her teeth, Amy kept her gaze fixed on Bailey, unsure of what she was doing as she lay on the ground, rage seething as the demon began to grin at what Amy could only guess as being the memory of pushing Sarah over the ledge. For some reason, everything inside of her told her to get up and return the favor, to push Bailey out the window regardless of what it would do, and that if she didn't act soon, her body would strike out on its own. It was as if the rush of adrenaline was taking over, feeding on her anger, putting her on autopilot as she flipped onto her feet, giving her the chance to decide what to do as she stood unstable on her heels, trying to figure out how and when she had learned the move she had just pulled. Ignoring the sudden ability to roll further up her shoulder blades and propel herself into a standing position using only her hands, Amy stared at the demon in front of her, noticing that the creature seemed equally surprised but unimpressed.

"Struck a nerve?" Bailey grinned as Amy glared at her. "You should have seen how shocked she was when I showed her what I am. It was the most delicious expression I have _ever_ seen. I memorized it, you know, down to ever gasp and plead as I held her over the side. I was waiting for you to come back, so that you could see everything I saw, but you took too long. So I dropped her in hopes to get your attention. Looks like it worked." Amy bunched her jaw and narrowed her eyes as the demon's smile widened. "She made the most delicate splatter on the ground. Even from up here, you could hear every bone in her body break—"

"Stop," Amy warned, her stomach doing flip-flops as bile rose with the imagery, her brain unable to keep from imagining exactly what Bailey was describing based on what she had seen outside prior to rushing in.

But the demon refused to quit, continuing on even though Amy's hands were clearly balling up the more she spoke. "It took about five seconds flat for anyone to notice what had happened. It came all at once, too. The screams, the chatter, the crying. I swear, if I wasn't anticipating your arrival, I would have kept watching everyone freak out. They all stood over poor Sarah's body just like they stood over the other two. Just like when I saw you pushing through the crowd when that other girl—what was her name again?—Celia died. I thought that would be the moment tha—"

Suddenly, Amy was unable to control herself as her tight fists flew forward, striking Bailey across the mouth in one solid blow. All at once, blood and teeth sprayed the wall beside them, knocking the creature into the sheetrock as it laughed, wiping away the red leaking over its lips. Waving its hand again, Amy found herself an inch from the broken window, feeling the cold air from outside wafting in stronger than before as she remained frozen in place, tethered by invisible grips holding her still.

"Keep that up and I'll rethink my offer," Bailey giggled.

Sickness swallowed Amy as she tried to fight against the hidden grasp weighing her down, infuriating her more at the thought of being debilitated by something she couldn't even see. Struggling uselessly against it, the demon continued on, twisting the knife further as she went into detail about how she had tricked both Rachel and Celia into being afraid, making loud noises in the dead of night that would have caused anyone to jump. Going on about how she had let Rachel slip and pushed Celia over, exactly the same way she had shoved Sarah, Bailey smiled with every word, seeming to pick up as hatred grew in Amy's gut, eventually consuming her in a way she had never felt before. In that moment, a heartbeat of anger spread throughout Amy's body, apparently fighting against whatever was holding her in place as she dropped in a crouch on the floor. Looking up, the surprise she had seen on Bailey's face before had returned, this time with an expression of astonishment.

"Well I'll be," the demon snarled. "Guess we were right about you."

Not giving Bailey's words a thought, Amy struck forward, sending an uppercut under Bailey's jaw and following with a kick to the side, not giving any pause to how she suddenly felt as though she had learned how to defend herself overnight. Returning the favor with a twist of her hand and an unconnected throw of her arm, Amy contorted in pain and hit the wall as Bailey used some sort of unseen power to counter the girl's blows. Not allowing herself to be kept in place once again, Amy immediately rushed Bailey around the middle, taking her down onto the hardwood floor with a hard thud that hurt both of them upon collision. Jumping to her feet again, Amy was barely up before Bailey threw her backwards, sending her wheeling dangerously close to the window. With a crunch of glass, Amy tried to stop herself, feeling only the invisible hand that had shoved her into the wall keep a strong grip. A second later and Amy's feet slid out from under her, her back hitting the sill of the window and becoming sliced open with sharp shards of glass as she landed with her shoulder blades against the wood. Screaming out in agony, Amy tried to twist away from the pain as it shot through her body, only being pushed further into the jagged pieces by Bailey, who appeared before her almost instantly, keeping her hands firmly pressed on Amy's shoulders.

"You should have stuck on the road with your dad," Bailey sneered, twisting Amy's body against the ragged edges. "But instead you run out on him because you didn't get your way, even though he warned you. Just like I said before, history is doomed to repeat itself."

Unable to focus on the demon's words based on the searing pain running through her body as skin tore and blood ran onto the floor beneath her, Amy tried to kick up at the creature in front of her, unable to move her legs for fear of tearing the slashes even more if she slid onto the ground unexpectedly. Remaining bent backwards, Amy attempted to steel herself against the sharp sting, coming up unsuccessful against Bailey's strong grasp. All of a sudden, she wished she could become emotionally cold again, just like when she had first arrived in the doorway, feeling everything become closed up inside some internal vault to allow her to focus on one task. Maybe if she could do that, then she wouldn't be so receptive to the torture that was the demon's rough movements, instead trying to come up with a plan rather than becoming wholly devoured by the ripping of her back and the way the blood eased the sliding of her body.

"Stop. Please," Amy muttered finally, unable to withstand the pain. "Please."

All of a sudden, the sound of heavy footsteps thudded throughout the room, halting in the doorway as an equally thick voice overcame everything, echoing with a ring of menace as strange words began spilling out of the speaker's mouth. From behind Bailey, Amy recognized the black wool coat that hung off of a muscular frame, leather motorcycle boots being the blame for the dense thumps against the hardwood.

"_Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino qui fertis super caelum caeli ad Orientem. Ecce dabit voci Suae vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo…."_

* * *

John Winchester stared at the demon as it fell to its knees, black smoke flowing out of its mouth as it screamed toward the heavens, the ironic opposite of where it had been created and where it was headed. Across the room, Amelia was pushing herself up from where she had been speared by the shards of glass in the windowsill, surprisingly still conscious even after the amount of blood she had lost. As her eyes remained fixed on what was happening before her, a mix of both confusion and fear marred on her face, John turned to leave, letting the demon's exit become a distraction as he made his own departure.

He had been following Amelia for the past six weeks that they had been separated, keeping his eyes locked on her just like he had asked her to do for him during the summer with the boys. With every move she made, John was there to follow her, staying in the shadows as he attempted to make himself scarce. He had known something was there, trailing her just as he was, though unable to hone in on the thing due to the fact that the demon had hid itself in plain sight. He had been convinced the creature would remain someone distant in order to strike out unsuspectingly, waiting for the right moment to scare the girl and capture her to hold hostage until he appeared. But he had been wrong, just like he had been wrong when it came to a different demon doing a similar thing with his sons back in Chicago, thinking that the boys would be safer if he stayed away to hunt their mother's killer alone. However, once they had called, saying they thought they had a lead on the thing that had murdered Mary, John had lost his ability to think clearly, heading straight into the lion's den and falling into the trap the thing had laid to take down the three Winchesters in their own motel room.

Thankfully, John had already been a step ahead of their plan, keeping away from Chicago to scoop up Amelia from the Foresters in order to keep her safe. Intent on checking up on Sam and Dean's claims that they were zeroing on what he had been hunting for the entirety of his youngest son's life, John had left Amelia behind in a diner to investigate, hoping that she would be fine while he headed deeper into town. Unfortunately, John had had a feeling that the attack inside the motel wasn't about to be the last, especially since he had been digging around where the demons didn't want him to for months on end. They had already tried to strike against him once, using his own kids for bait, and it was unlikely that would be their only attempt. His gut had told him so, even prior to arriving blindly in Chicago, making a pit stop in Northbrook to make sure the next on their list was gone by the time the demons arrived to strike. What he didn't know, though, was that he had lead them straight to her.

In the time that they had been on the road together, as much as John had wished for anything but to have to take her along with him, he had spent most of his time away, trying to dig up more on what the demons' plans were or what was about to happen. So far, he only knew bits and pieces, such as his youngest son having a role to play in their endgame and the fact that his family was being used as pawns on a chessboard for something bigger than themselves, but everything else was a mystery. So far, ever since the night John had left his boys to head off on his own, he had visited a psychic in Kansas named Missouri Moseley, a clairvoyant in Illinois named Pamela Barnes, and a card-reader in Pennsylvania named Celeste Lundy. Disappointingly, all of them had told him the same thing: that the demons had buried their plans deep, in a place no one was meant to find them. On top of that, the latter had added one thing, something that chilled John Winchester to the bone, an occurrence that didn't happen all that often: "Be weary of Sam."

Frustrated, John had left all three places intent on discovering what the demons had hidden and where, coming up short no matter where he dug. However, with every spot he began to shovel aside dirt, both literally and figuratively, the closer he felt he was to finding it, with demons striking now more than ever as he searched for the obscured piece of information he needed in order to learn the truth about everything he had been fighting for in the past twenty-three years. Even now, after seeing Sam and Dean get torn to shreds in Chicago back in May, then again just a moment ago with Amelia nearly bleeding to death in her own dorm room, John sensed he was closer than ever. If he hadn't been, the demons wouldn't strike.

Heading down the stairs leading to the first floor of the building, John pushed open the doors that had been sealed shut for the past hour, with not even the glass they were made out of shattering upon impact. He had stood aside as policemen used battering rams and gunshots to try to get in, eventually giving up when they came to the conclusion that everyone had already cleared out of the building once news of the girl falling from the window had broken, and that they didn't need to investigate immediately. It appeared, upon first glance, that they had been right, with some of the students in the cluster of gawkers dressed in pajamas as they stood outside. Ultimately, though, John had noticed Amelia's absence, nearly missing her as she raced inside with the girl he remembered passing out in the hall, her body slumped unconscious against the wall.

However, where the police had given up, John had known better. Pulling until gasping and pointing upwards gave him a signal that something was happening on the top floor, and that the demon was now too distracted to keep its hold on the doors, he had rushed up to the highest level, automatically hearing the struggle at the end of the corridor. Unfortunately, John had been hoping not to be seen, to remain invisible just like he had been for the past few weeks Amelia had been at school, but he knew he had been noticed. Thankfully, he had slipped out after keeping the promise he had made to himself, that he would amend what happened to his sons back in Chicago by making sure the same didn't happen to the girl while she was away at school.

Slipping out through the entrance of the dormitory, John headed away from the dispersing crowd, officers shouting orders at the students gathering to head back to their own residential areas just like they had been for the past hour that he had been waiting to get inside the building. This time, though, it appeared the police were serious, threatening arrests for obstructing an investigation if no one left the scene immediately. Watching kids break off into groups and head their own ways, John glanced back as he slipped into the shadows of a nearby, unlit walkway, taking in the fact that now was the time the lawmen decided to rush into the building he had just exited.

Sensing that his work was done on the Yale University Campus, John Winchester waited just long enough to see the unconscious girl in the hallway and a zipped-up body bag getting rolled out into the courtyard on a stretcher, Amelia not far behind as a wiry paramedic walked with her toward the ambulance parked on the lawn, its red lights flashing and illuminating a square of the quad that reached no further than a few feet around it.

"I'm going to need you to tell me what happened," the paramedic pressed.

Glancing in John's direction, almost as though she could see him despite the fact that he was covered in complete blackness, before looking back at the thin man in front of her, Amelia simply answered. "I-I don't know."


	17. Epilogue

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EPILOGUE

New Haven Emergency Hospital  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, September 14, 2006  
9:58 AM

**A**my had never experienced a night so long as the one she had spent at New Haven Emergency Hospital, listening to the beeps of the heart monitor and compression of the respirator keeping Taylor alive as her friend lay flat in the bed in front of her. For some reason, everything before her seemed surreal, almost as though every memory she had from last night didn't belong to her, and that the fact that she was sitting beside Taylor Rosen's bed in a semi-private room on the third floor comatose infirmary was nothing but a nightmare.

For the past eight hours, Amy had gone through a trying time as police came in and out to talk to her, doctors drew blood and patched up the shreds in her back, and Taylor's family came in and out, crying as they listened to a doctor tell them the girl had fallen into what they believed to be a short-term coma due to blunt trauma to the parietal lobe. From there, Amy had been left wandering the building while Mr. and Mrs. Rosen brought her a fresh change of clothes from Taylor's dorm to keep her from walking around bloodstained and took over guarding their daughter's room, kicking Amy out whenever the nurse came by to remind them that only two people were allowed in at a time. As she meandered the halls, trying to find somewhere to sit that didn't make her feel conspicuous, Amy kept her eyes trained on the screen of her cell phone, the slow mobile Internet browser open and searching for anything she could find about Bailey Yost—if she even existed at all.

At around two in the morning, Amy had finally stumbled upon what she should have seen in the first place, that a family in Mobile, Alabama had been murdered in cold blood, with the youngest daughter going missing. Calling a few people she had classes with in Vanderbilt Hall, and waking most of them up, she had discovered that the RA for the fifth floor of the dormitory was someone else named Tracy Ritter. In fact, the more she asked around, the more Amy discovered that Bailey Yost had been seen around campus, but never in any lessons, not even the ones Amy knew the girl claimed to have been taking.

But no matter how much she wanted to kick herself for not looking into Bailey sooner, the more Amy realized that it was impossible for her to have known her new friend had been a demon. Up until a few days ago, the only encounter Amy had ever had with anything weird had been through words on a page, only being introduced to the supernatural after Bailey had planted the seed in both hers and Taylor's heads. Instead, she placed the blame entirely on the creature, and on the fact that Amy should have known better than to trust someone so quickly. Making a mental note to keep herself at arm's length from now on, Amy had shut down her research on Bailey, figuring she already knew all she needed to.

After finding a place to sit in the outdoor canteen, Amy grabbed a cup of coffee from inside before returning to her spot in the corner, situated between two thick hedges and a steel table. As overnight faded into the muted blue of day, Amy let her mind wander over to other things, such as the fact that something inside her felt different than before, sparked by the sudden ability to do things she had never thought possible. She had kicked, punched, and survived a fight as if she had been training for something similar her whole life, not missing a beat as her blows connected or refusing to pass out as blood flowed freely from her back in streams. It was as though something had changed, her body taking over at the sight of the demon and kicking into gear automatically, placing her in the passenger's seat.

On top of that, there were other, more bothersome things, like that of the fact that she had become drained of emotions, the fact that demons were real, the fact that John Winchester was there, or, first and foremost, the fact that she had lost three friends—four, depending on whether or not she was still able to count Bailey as one. However, no matter which tack she took when it came to mentally discussing the topics, her brain was unable to slow itself down to think rationally, everything coming out a blur as she tried to focus on one thing at a time. Rather, all she got was a mesh of feelings that didn't make sense, causing her to become more confused than before.

Unfortunately, there was only one constant in all of those that she was able to feel without thinking about, and that was the dull ache left behind by Sarah, Celia, and even Rachel. All of them had died in some attempt to get to Amy, then to John Winchester, though why the demon had chosen those girls as specific targets as opposed to anyone else on campus was still a mystery to her. If she had to guess, the only reason she could come up with for using people Amy knew was—beside the obvious, to hurt her—because only then would she be able to be pushed into investigate the deaths. Ultimately, though, no matter how much she thought about it, the more Amy found the idea stupid and childish. If Dean and his brother, who she now knew was named Sam, had done something bad enough to piss off a demon into repeating the actions back to someone else for revenge, why choose her? Because she was the easiest target? Or because it was convenient as both a way to lure Amy into looking into the supernatural and to catch John Winchester's attention?

While she had a feeling all of those questions had been answered somewhere in Bailey's long monologues, Amy had a hard time focusing on them, instead running the same inquisitions over in her head as the sun grew brighter on the horizon. Draining the last of her coffee, Amy let the warmth come over her as the cold air blew past her, reminding her of the night before and sending a chill down her spine. If it hadn't been for her ability to think quickly, the cool fall air would have been the final thing she felt as she tumbled over the side of Swing Hall, much in the same way as Sarah. Reaching behind her, Amy touched the heavy padding taped around her shoulder blades, suddenly thankful for the fifty stitches she had had to endure in the emergency room earlier in the evening.

However, she wasn't able to be grateful for long. Tapping her fingers against the side of her coffee cup as she sat forward in her chair, careful not to sit with her back pressed against anything, Amy could see the figure of the detective she had been talking to after being patched up standing in the doorway, making her way over to Amy with ease. The woman had been short with light brown hair, slate-colored eyes fixed on her target as she crossed over the stone canteen, and dressed in a black pant-suit. Nearing Amy, Detective Wright took a seat in the chair opposite her, sitting down with a look on her face that told her the detective had finally worked out the kinks in the story Amy had given her a few hours ago—one that told of Bailey Yost attacking Amy and Taylor in the dorm before suffering some sort of aneurism and dying right in front of her. While the story hadn't sounded believable from the get-go, the detective had played it cool, looking as though she bought it.

"Ms. Winchester, we need to talk," Detective Wright started, leaning forward as well.

Nodding, Amy swallowed hard. "Yeah. I, uh, I know."

"Now, I know you're under a lot of pressure, and it's possible that at times like these, you might be able to forget a few things, but there are some problems with your story that I need to press out," the woman said, reaching inside her blazer for a notebook and pen, folding back the cover and clicking the ballpoint as she spoke. "You said that there was nobody there beside you three girls, is that correct?" Pausing to write a note as Amy nodded, the detective continued. "Are you aware, Ms. Winchester, that we found two sets of identical footprints in both your dorm room and the room once belonging to Celia Brown? A _man's_ footprints? Are you certain in your statement that there was no one else there with you tonight? Remember, lying to me can be written up as a charge of obstruction of justice."

Biting her lip, Amy shook her head. "There wasn't anyone there, Detective."

"So you're saying that Bailey Yost dropped dead of her own accord?"

Furrowing her brow, Amy tapped her fingers against the coffee cup again, fully aware that the woman was taking in every move she made, looking for tells that would give away whether or not Amy knew more than she was saying. Glancing up from where her eyes had been fixed on the tabletop, Amy focused on something behind the detective, noticing that a female nurse in pink scrubs was heading straight for the outdoor cafeteria in a hurry, waving toward Amy as she got nearer. Jumping to her feet, Amy rounded the table quickly, forgetting about Detective Wright altogether as she pushed open the glass doors that lead back inside the hospital. Once she was beside the nurse, the woman smiled warmly, gazing at the detective for a moment before delivering the good news and directing Amy back up to the third floor: Taylor was awake and wanted to see her.

Rushing to the elevator, Amy let it carry her to where she needed to go, racing to room 314 as fast as she could get there. As soon as she reached the doorway, she could see Taylor sitting upright, the television fixed in the corner of the room on and flashing the morning news, the top story being exactly what Amy knew it would be. Shutting it off just as Taylor noticed her friend's presence, the two flashed a grin at one another before the mood turned automatically somber.

"Why aren't we dead?" Taylor asked bluntly, frowning.

Surprised by the question, Amy laughed despite herself, crossing over to the chair she had abandoned earlier when Mr. and Mrs. Rosen had taken over her station. "I guess we weren't supposed to die."

Scoffing and smirking sardonically at the same time, Taylor shook her head slowly, the tubes still hooked up to her impeding her attempt to be more animated than she was. Looking at her friend, Amy could tell that Taylor was upset over everything that had happened, probably made worse by whatever had been said on the news. It was possible that the report had listed Bailey as another casualty, not giving any details, as well as mentioning what had happened to Sarah, and Celia and Rachel before that. Clearly the newscast hadn't been the best thing for Taylor to wake up to, especially since she didn't have the whole story of what had happened, and leading her to think that they had been the only two survivors of the campus haunting out of everyone they knew.

Deciding that it would be better if Taylor knew the truth rather than letting her believe that they had somehow miraculously made it out of Swing Hall alive, Amy cleared her throat, ready to repeat back everything that had happened. Glancing at her curiously, Taylor listened quietly as Amy spilled every detail, trying not to leave anything out as she retold the tale in hushed tones. By the time she was finished, Taylor seemed to understand the episode better than Amy had, nodding her head solemnly before opening her mouth to say something of her own.

"Your dad, huh? Just in the nick of time, too," Taylor said pensively, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared thoughtfully at her friend. "And I had a feeling about Bailey. The sulfer thing was too much of an oddity. That in combination with the eyes…"

Grinning sadly, Amy let silence fall between them as they sat still, taking in everything that had happened the night before on their own. While they mentally worked out twists and reiterated things that happened, Amy could tell that questions were forming in Taylor's mind as well as in hers, probably ones that weren't likely to be answered any time soon. Giving up on figuring anything out for the night, especially since the coffee hadn't done much of anything except made her tired, Amy stood up as Mr. and Mrs. Rosen appeared in the doorway, nodding to her as the trio passed each other.

"I'll be back later, okay?" Amy said, nodding toward Taylor before leaving and letting her friend's parents take over the conversation and care.

Slipping into the hall, Amy kept her eyes focused on the tiles as she headed for the elevator located at the end of the corridor, taking it down to the first floor and out the entrance into the bright, sunny day. While she knew she should feel lucky to be alive, that she was fortunate to only have survived with some scarring, all of that disappeared as she walked all the way back to Yale University, not bothering to hail a cab or find a bus. She wanted to think on her own, and it seemed like heading down the nearly-empty street at ten o'clock in the morning was a good time and place to do it.

Something was bothering Amy farther than what had happened earlier, something that said a natural habit in her was unearthing itself following the previous night's events. For everything that Amy did, she liked to have a plan, some sort of schedule that remained the same from day to day to allow her to pencil things in that would fit around what had to be completed before she went to bed at night. But it seemed as though something had suddenly appeared in her life that couldn't be programmed or put into a time block. This thing, with Bailey and demons and even ghosts, seemed to be more than just a one-time incident. It was as though a door had been opened up that she was either going to have to be shut or cross over into, neither of which compacting itself between her eleven o'clock psychology class and two P.M. drama lesson.

As she walked, Amy kicked at a stone on the concrete, giving up when it had fallen into the gutter. John Winchester had appeared in her dorm room to save her, and had known how to take care of the thing threatening her life. Based on the way he had seamlessly taken out that demon and been talked about by the damn thing, Amy could only guess that the man had more of a foray into the abnormal than she had, probably years of experience. But if that were true, did that also make it true for his sons, too? Had they been traveling from state to state, not playing Spy-vs-Spy, but instead looking for things like this to take down and tackle? And if _that _were true, did that mean that she had stumbled into their family business, if it could be called that?

Sighing heavily, Amy hurried across the street and onto the university campus, looking out at the lush green grass. For some reason, she felt at home amongst the tall, brownstone buildings that towered over everything on each side of the school, giving her a sense of security, as though the place were a castle out on an island. She had always thought nothing could hurt her here, even if they tried, but it seemed as though that had been disproved the night before. However, no matter how badly she hurt, from the stitches to everything she had witnessed over the past couple of weeks, nothing could deter her from feeling secure on the college grounds, keeping her from wanting to tear herself away and head off with John to be trained, as the demon had suggested, by him in the art of all things supernatural. In fact, the more she crossed over the grassy plains, the less interest Amy had in throwing herself into the unknown, preferring to stay where she was in the familiar. If John, Sam, and Dean wanted to put themselves at risk to save humanity—if that's what they did, she didn't really know for sure—that was okay with her. For now, all Amy wanted to do was be a person and be normal; just a girl from Northbrook, Illinois and nothing more.

Crossing over to Dwight Hall, Amy pulled out her keys from her pocket, intent on catching a few hours sleep before having to face the mess in the swing dorms. Heading up to the top floor, Amy unlocked the room Taylor had been newly assigned, finding that the place was also still a wreck from the "ghostly" encounter her friend had had a few nights ago. Thankfully, the debris didn't stretch into the bedroom, meaning that Amy could step over the piles of books and papers strewn across the floor without having to worry about clearing off the bed before collapsing on top.

Crossing into the room Amy had occupied following Celia's murder, Amy tied her hair into a ponytail and turned toward the unmade covers in the center of everything, not finding the bed as clear as she thought. In the middle of the sheets sat a book propped up against the headboard, a white card shining up at her reading simply: _Amelia_.

Recognizing who it was from, Amy removed the card to look at the book behind it, noticing that it was old and delicately bound, its numerous pages yellowed on the side with age. Picking it up, she could see a title faded in gold letters, the words familiar from the time she had been at the library earlier, the volume being one of the many she had pulled off the shelves at the beginning of the week. Rolling her eyes, Amy placed the book on the nightstand with a yawn, too tired to care as she slowly eased herself into bed, making sure to lie on her stomach to save her the pain of resting on her stitches, and almost immediately fell asleep, consumed with thoughts of _Archangels and Demons _as she drifted off.

_END._


End file.
